by Terry Brooks
At least the worst of it was over, he thought.
When he reached the light, he hesitated once more, and then, having no other sensible recourse, reached out and touched it.
Instantly, the light disappeared along with the chamber, the pedestal, and everything else he had seen since leaving the dragon’s maw and descending into its throat. He blinked against the sudden blackness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he found himself standing once more within the dragon’s open jaws, peering out through the double rows of its serrated teeth toward the glow of Simralin’s torch.
In the shadows beyond the maw of the dragon, he saw her move toward him in the gloom.
“There you are!” a familiar voice that clearly wasn’t hers declared. “Come here, boy. Don’t just stand there gaping.”
Kirisin’s mouth was indeed hanging open in disbelief.
“DEMON!” Angel Perez called out a second time when there was no response to the first. “Are you afraid of me?”
Still nothing. She waited some more. It didn’t matter how long this took. The longer the better, in fact. She was buying time for the Elves, and the more she could give them, the better their chances of gaining possession of what they had come to find.
She was suddenly uneasy, standing out in the open like this, exposed to everything, and she began moving to her left, changing not only her position but also her view of the rocks. The feeders, which now numbered more than a hundred, moved with her. Already she had summoned the magic to her staff, filling it with white fire, the runes glowing like embers in a working forge. She felt its warmth flood through her, circulating like her blood, the measure of her life. She would not give up that life easily, she told herself. She would not help the ones who had come to kill her by panicking or trying to flee or acting in haste or desperation. She would show them what real strength meant.
The hissing sound came a moment later, slow and taunting, a wicked whisper from within the rocks.
She held her breath, waiting.
Then the wolf thing appeared, a shadow sliding out of other shadows, long and lean and hungry. Its tongue lolled and its teeth gleamed. It was fully ten feet in length, and its sleek body rippled with muscle. Only now it looked less like a wolf and more like a giant cat, its features become decidedly feline, the scaly body having undergone yet another metamorphosis. The change caught her by surprise. But a demon was still a demon, she told herself, whatever shape it took.
She glanced past it into the cluster of boulders. There was no sign of its companion. Was it hiding back there, waiting for its chance to catch her off guard while she was preoccupied with this one? What had become of it?
But almost before her questions were asked she knew the answers. The second demon was farther up the mountain, tracking Kirisin and his sister. It had gotten around behind her, and while this one distracted her it would take care of her unprotected charges.
She felt her heart sink with the realization. Simralin was tough and Kirisin brave, but they were no match for a demon. A rush of urgency flooded through her. She had to end things here quickly if she was to be of any help to her friends.
“Acude a mi, demonio,” she taunted the demon, and then hissed at it cat-like. “Here kitty, kitty. Come play with me.”
The demon spit as if scalded, hunching its shoulders. Slowly, deliberately, it slouched toward her. The feeders were leaping all about them, anxious and hungry, anticipating their battle. Angel braced herself in the snow and ice, aware suddenly that she had failed to remove her crampons. The iron teeth were sunk into the snow, pinning her in place. She would not be able to move quickly.
But there was no time to change things now. She would have to do the best she could.
She took a defensive stance as the cat demon stalked her, remembering anew how close it had come to killing her at both of their previous meetings. She had fought it with every ounce of strength and every shred of skill she could muster, and still she would have died both times if not for an intervening fate. She could not count on that here. She did not think she could defeat this creature, did not think she could kill it and not be killed herself. Yet that was what she must find a way to do. She must forget the odds, ignore the past, and change the outcome she was certain awaited her.
Suddenly she noticed something she had both missed and forgotten. The demon had only one eye. Simralin had put out the other with one of her knives when it had attacked them in Ashenell days earlier. A black hole was all that remained. She felt a sudden surge of hope. If it could only see from one side, perhaps she had a better chance than she believed.
And if she could manage to put out the other eye…
“Madre de Dios,” she whispered.
The demon came at her in a sudden rush, hurtling across the short distance that separated them, claws digging into the ice, tearing up white tufts that sprayed the hazy air. Angel swung the tip of her black staff into position and sent the Word’s magic hammering into her attacker. The demon was knocked sideways, sprawling across the snow, spinning to a stop.
Without any sign that it was damaged in the least by what she had done to it, the demon came back to its feet and began advancing anew.
Three times it charged Angel, and three times it was sent flying backward. It hadn’t gotten within six feet of her when it rose to come at her a fourth time, but she could see now what was happening. The demon was forcing her to use up her strength on attacks that were meaningless. It was breaking her down a little at a time, draining her so that eventually she would not be able to defend herself. Angel could tell that the strategy was working. The demon was much stronger than she was and could absorb more punishment. Nothing she was doing was having the remotest effect on it; she, on the other hand, was already tiring.
The feeders could sense her weakness and were slowly tightening the circle about her.
She had to do something to turn things around. She thought of Johnny. What would he tell her to do?
Use the tools you have at hand.
The demon came at her again. She reacted, but not quickly enough. The demon was on top of her before she could bring the magic to bear. She caught it on the broad length of her staff as it leapt for her, falling backward as she did so, letting the demon’s weight carry it right over her. The maneuver worked. The demon tumbled away into the snow, legs thrashing. But searing pain lanced down her right side as claws tore through her clothing and into her flesh.
She ignored the pain, coming back to her feet swiftly, turning to face it anew. Feeders were clinging to her, trying to devour her, but she flung them away.
Use the tools you have at hand.
It rushed her again almost instantly, attacking in the same fashion. But this time she was ready for it. Johnny’s words had triggered an idea, and she knew all at once what she must do. She did not try to slow it with her magic; she let it come. Again it hurtled into her, bearing her to the ground, trying to pin her in place so that it could tear her apart. Again she caught it on her staff. But this time she tucked her legs against her body as it knocked her backward, boots pulling free of the ice, the wicked metal teeth of her crampons levering toward the demon’s belly. As it landed on top of her she kicked out, jamming the crampons against the beast’s exposed underside and ripping downward with all the strength she possessed.
The demon screamed. She had never heard a scream like this, a terrible wrenching cry that echoed all across the mountain slopes and the valleys beyond. She felt flesh and muscle give way beneath her boots, saw blood spurt everywhere. The beast clamped its jaws on one arm and her staff as well, but she used the magic to keep those jaws from closing all the way and the teeth from tearing off her arm.
An instant later it broke away, rolling across the snow in a tangle of blood and scales and ragged flesh, feeders clinging to it in black patches.
It should have been either dead or wounded badly enough that it could not continue the fight. Any other creature would have been finished. But not
this one. It was already back on its feet and stalking toward her, ignoring the feeders, its underside a mass of blood and torn flesh it barely seemed to notice. Angel felt her courage fail. She braced herself for the rush she knew was coming, summoning what magic she had left to wield.
It wasn’t enough. The demon came at her so quickly that she barely had time to react. Fire lanced from her staff, burning into the creature, breaking through skin and scales and flesh and perhaps even bone. But it didn’t stop it. Ignoring her efforts to keep it at bay, it slammed into Angel, knocking her backward across the ice, knocking the wind from her lungs. Claws ripped and tore. Heavy limbs pounded. She felt streaks of fiery pain race up and down her body. She felt ribs snap. She felt her right arm go numb and her left leg collapse. She felt her joints loosen and her head spin. For a second, she thought she was going to break apart.
But she held on. She might have been finished then and there, but the demon had come at her so hard that its momentum carried it past her once again, across the frozen surface of the snow and into the rocks out of which it had come. It screamed and hissed as it flew past, claws digging at the ice, fighting to gain purchase, failing to do so. Angel saw it for only seconds, a dark shadowy nightmare, and she whipped her staff at its head and chased after it with her magic’s fire. Slowly, she staggered back to her feet, leaning heavily on the staff. The entire right side of her body was a mass of blood. She could barely keep herself upright. She pulled the all-weather cloak from her back and wrapped it around her injured arm, trying to cushion it against further damage. She couldn’t tell, but the bones of her forearm might already be broken. She grimaced. If so, they were not the only ones.
She watched the demon emerge from the rocks once more, slouching out of the shadows. It looked worse than she did, but it was still coming. She shook her head, despairing. She did not know what it would take to stop it, but she did not think it was anything she possessed.
The feeders, she thought darkly, massing all about them, were anticipating that they would feast on both.
The demon charged her again, not so quickly this time, its stamina sapped and its strength depleted. Even so, she could not get out of its way. She used the fire on its face, and as it slammed into her she shoved her bad arm, still wrapped in her cloak, and the length of her staff between its jaws to try to block away its teeth. Then, as fresh pain ratcheted through her, she did the one thing she had always known she must never do. She let go of her staff and with her hands freed, she ripped at the demon’s face with the serrated palms of her needle gloves.
A second time, she got lucky. One of the gloves caught the demon just above its good eye and tore downward across its face.
The cat thing shrieked in pain and rage, the entire half of its face turned into a red smear. As she struggled to break free of it, claws tore at her, opening fresh wounds. Angel ignored them, regaining her grip on her staff, calling up its magic the moment her fingers closed about its length. She thrust the demon away, watching it thrash in a blind frenzy as it slid backward. Still collapsed on her belly, she used her pain and rage to fuel the Word’s magic and sent it tearing into her adversary.
She screamed at it as she did so, in that instant little more than an animal herself.
The magic struck the demon with a fury that transcended anything of which Angel had thought herself capable. It exploded against the demon’s mangled head, bore into it and shattered it like glass. The head flew apart, gone in an instant. The body thrashed for long moments after, as if not yet aware that it was no longer whole, that it had nothing to guide it. Feeders descended on it, burying it in a mass of writhing shadows. It collapsed beneath them, shuddered once, and lay still.
Angel dropped to her knees, her staff gripped tightly in both hands, the fading magic of the Word’s fire licking at the smooth black ends like cat’s tongues. She stared at the demon’s corpse, not quite comprehending that it was lifeless. She waited for it to move. She waited for it to rise and come for her.
But the demon lay where it was, headless and lifeless. When the feeders began to drift away, Angel realized finally that it would not ever move again. She tried to lever herself up so that she could go to her friends. She had to find them and protect them. The other demon could have reached them by now and it would finish the job that this one started and the Loden would be lost and the Elves compromised and…
She struggled to rise but found that her legs would not work; her muscles were too weak. She could only get to her knees.
Then she could not even manage that, and she collapsed into blackness.
THIRTY-TWO
K IRISIN STARED AT THE APPARITION standing before him, trying to make himself accept that what he was seeing was real. “I thought you were dead!” he exclaimed in disbelief.
Old Culph chuckled. “Well, now, what led you to believe that, Kirisin?”
“Tragen found your body!”
“Is that what he told you?” Even in the near darkness, Kirisin could see his eyes twinkle. “Were you sad for me? Did you think the demons had found me out? Did you think they had caught and killed me?”
“We all did!” Kirisin declared, relief flooding through him. “After Ailie and Erisha were killed, we thought the demons had gotten you, too! We didn’t have time to do more than make a quick check; we had to flee Arborlon right away.”
The old man ambled forward a few steps, dropping the beam of his solar torch and nodding his understanding. “You were right to do so. No point in taking unnecessary chances. I certainly didn’t. I waited until it was safe to do so, and then I followed you. I tracked you all the way here, to these caves.” He looked around. “Impressive, aren’t they? An Elven safehold.” He looked back quickly. “Did you find it? Did you find the Loden Elfstone? Do you have it?”
Kirisin held out his hand, revealing the Stone cupped within his curled fingers. “Inside the dragon’s maw. Guarded by the magic of Pancea Rolt Gotrin, just as you thought it might be. You were right about everything. We couldn’t have done this without you.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe you’re alive. How did you manage to get here on your own?”
Culph shrugged. “Well, I had help. And I know a few things about getting places. Flying hot-air balloons is a skill I mastered some time back, for example. Come out of there, and I’ll tell you everything. We can take as much time as we need.”
Kirisin walked toward him, treading lightly on the dragon’s icy tongue, stepping carefully over its rows of teeth and out into the cavern chamber once more. He had his solar torch back on—it was working again—but he kept the light lowered so as not to blind the old man. Culph, for his part, had set down his own torch, letting its beam flood the space that separated them in a wide arc.
“I still can’t believe you made it all this way,” Kirisin said. “Or even that you managed to find us.”
“As I said, I had help.” The old man smiled. Then abruptly, as the boy stepped into the circle of his torchlight, he held up his hand. “That’s close enough. Why don’t you just stand where you are while we talk?”
Kirisin stopped short, surprised at the change in the other’s tone of voice. Then he caught sight of something just behind Culph, a figure slumped on the ground. Simralin. He recognized her clothing and blond hair. She lay motionless, blood on her face.
“Stay where you are, Kirisin,” Culph ordered quietly, and now he didn’t sound anything at all like Culph. “Don’t give your sister another thought. She’s fine where she is.”
Kirisin stared at Simralin’s still form and then at the old man. “What’s going on? What happened to her?”
“She took a blow to the head. A rather hard blow, I’m afraid. She’s a strong young woman.”
Kirisin stood frozen in place, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. “Did you do this?”
Culph shrugged, and then nodded. “I had to. She was a distraction.”
“A distraction? What are you talking about?” Kirisin blinked. Then a
cold realization swept through him. “You,” he said quietly. “You’re the…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word demon. “All this time.”
The old man nodded. “All this time.”
Kirisin’s heart sank. He gestured toward his sister. “Did you kill her?”
“Kill her? No, that would serve no useful purpose. I just made sure she wouldn’t interfere with us. I need her alive so that you don’t do anything foolish while we talk. You won’t, will you? Do anything foolish? You won’t make me really hurt her, will you?”
Kirisin glared at him. “You killed Erisha. And Ailie. And you tried to kill me. Why didn’t you? If you wanted to stop us from finding the Loden, why didn’t you just finish the job and kill me, too?”
The old man cocked his head quizzically. “What makes you think I wanted to stop you from finding the Loden? From finding any of the Elfstones, for that matter? Finding them is what I wanted you to do, right from the first time you told me the Ellcrys spoke to you.”
He rocked back on his heels. “It’s not so complicated, really. You and Erisha were searching for the Elfstones. If you found them, you would use them to save the Ellcrys. I thought it an excellent idea. So I researched the matter. I found the information I needed right away—not all of it, but most. I found some of it in the histories and some of it in the private notes and journals of the old families. As keeper of those records, I had access to all of it. I just didn’t tell anyone what I had found. I made certain no one else found any of it, either.”
“But you were helping us!”
“Just enough so that you would do what was needed, Kirisin. Never more. I gave you those bits and pieces to keep you looking. I didn’t know what had become of the seeking-Stones after Pancea Rolt Gotrin’s death. I knew they were buried with her, but not where she was buried. Some things were kept secret even from me. But you and your friends figured it out, and you got possession of them. I couldn’t have done that, not as a demon and not even as old Culph, keeper of the Elven histories. It needed the right person, a Chosen committed to saving the most precious of the Elven talismans.”
