by Dan McGirt
The deposed Demon Lord spoke. His voice soothed and stabbed my very soul with its bewitching brutality. “I see you, Champion, most hated of foes. Long have I waited for this moment, to see you broken and beaten before me, to extract my vengeance for the bitter cup of defeat you hurled in my face long ago.”
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” I said.
“I know you, Champion. I know the outlines of your form, the flavor of your will, the scent of your putridly courageous soul. It is you, Champion. You who took from me my dominion and the emblem of that dominion: the Superwand. You who trapped me in this null space where I can neither create nor destroy, where there is nothing to corrupt, no one to rule, no means of escape. Alone, I endured here for an eternity, unable to perform any act until my faithful servant Erimandras devised this Mirror as a means of communicating with me. I have guided him in closing the fist of the Dark Magic Society around total victory. I commanded him to cease the fruitless search for the Superwand and instead find the worm who stole it. I knew your spirit would endure in the world, Champion, ever fearful of my return.”
“I know nothing about null spaces. You have the wrong man.”
“You are the one. You will reveal the Superwand’s location so that Erimandras may use it to free me. Then I will crush you and the pathetic godlings you serve beneath my iron heel. Erimandras, proceed.”
“Yes, Dark One. Let the Perilous Pulp-Grinder be brought forth!”
That didn’t sound promising. I offered up a desperate prayer to The Gods. I figured they owed me at least one miracle. After all, they were largely responsible for me being in this situation. Even a slim chance of escape would satisfy me. I could do the rest. But my prayer brought no immediate response, no thunder in the heavens, no splitting asunder of the ground beneath me.
As slaves hurried to carry out the Overmaster’s command, a messenger rushed breathlessly into the chamber and threw himself before the Ruling Conclave.
“Great Ones, I beg to report that the hill rabble have been pushed back from the gates. Yet the battle madness is upon them and they gather for another assault!”
“The news you bring does not justify this interruption. I know that our forces are slaughtering the barbarian scum. I have commanded that it be so. And they will continue until the animals are exterminated. You will not disturb me with such trifles again. Throw him in the pit!”
The iron-masked slaves hastened to obey. The ill-fated messenger struggled, but to no avail. He died screaming.
A second messenger arrived as the slaves assembled the Perilous Pulp-Grinder, a massive collection of gears, belts, and jagged metal teeth.
“Great Ones, I beg to report that the Library of Darkness is in flames!”
“Impossible!” said Erimandras. “How can this be?”
“The protective anti-magic field was deactivated during the capture of Jason Cosmo, Great One, and was not reset. Evidently the other intruder, Mercury Boltblaster, started the blaze.”
“I’ll show you a blaze, fool! Into the pit with you!”
“Aw, man! And this was supposed to be my day off!”
The messenger was cast into the flames.
Erimandras turned his fury on Eufrosinia. “Why was Boltblaster allowed to live?”
She bowed her head. “Overmaster, I hastened to bring Cosmo to you and commanded the guards and lesser mages to find Boltblaster. It is they who failed you, not I.”
“Enough simpering! Boltblaster must pay dearly for this outrage! Find him! All of you! Not you, Lady Slash.” The Ruling Conclave rushed out of the chamber with disturbing eagerness. A dozen arcane masters, scores of lesser wizards, hundreds of slaves and soldiers and who knew what else—if Merc was still alive the odds did not favor his staying so for long.
We were crazy to have come here, to think we could prevail. The Society was too powerful, too numerous, with too many resources at its command.
Erimandras shook his head in dismay. “The Library of Darkness is our most precious resource. All our worldwide schemes will be disrupted if it is destroyed, all our accumulated knowledge lost.”
“Do not concern yourself with these lesser matters,” admonished Asmodraxas. “Once we wring the location of the Superwand from the Champion, books and records will not matter.”
“You are correct, O Master.” The Overmaster regained his composure. By now the slaves had transferred me from the Agony Matrix to the Perilous Pulp-Grinder. I was fastened to a conveyor belt by three thick leather straps across my chest, hips, and thighs.
“This device functions as a large juicer,” said Erimandras. “But rather than squeezing ripe fruit into a refreshing, nutritious beverage, it will grind your body into an undifferentiated mass of bloody pulp. No bones, no face, no form at all. Yet you will continue to live and you will feel it all. The liquid pulp you become will be collected in that vat. We will question you and give you the means to reply. If you remain uncooperative, there are a variety of tortures to which we can subject your new form. The worst, I think, is feeding you to our slaves. You will make a tasty soup. I am told that being digested is most painful. Start the machine!”
Two slaves wound a large crank and released it. The belt slowly pulled me toward the clacking iron jaws that would pulverize me. I struggled against my bonds, but the straps were too strong. Erimandras and his demonic master looked on dispassionately, Natalia with grim fascination.
“If you tell us now where to find the Superwand, I will release you,” said Erimandras.
“I wouldn’t tell you if I did know. Which I don’t.”
“You do know and you will tell us,” said Asmodraxas. “It is inevitable.”
“Not so!” said Mercury Boltblaster, appearing in the doorway, his red cloak floating around him like a cloud. The remaining slaves rushed at him and flew back lifeless, their bodies shattered by a concussive blast of force. The doors slammed shut behind Merc. I heard the collapse of the ceiling outside. This would be a private confrontation.
“What kept you?” I asked.
“I lost the map and took a few wrong turns. But now it is time to end this little drama.”
Merc wasn’t quite a miracle, but he was the next best thing.
*****
Chapter 23
“Kill him,” said Erimandras.
Natalia’s sword rasped from its scabbard. She rounded the pit to confront Merc, only to be stopped in her path by an invisible wall of force.
“Natalia, you’ve done well against me before,” said Merc. “Now you’ll be well done.”
The invisible wall expanded and slammed Natalia into the fire pit. She disappeared into the ebony flames without uttering a sound.
“You’re the Overmaster?” said Mercury, getting his first good look at Erimandras. “Shouldn’t you be home sucking your thumb?”
Erimandras stood. His height was unimpressive, but he did have the theatrics down cold. He raised the wand. “Fool! I was an arcane master at the age of five, a grandmaster at seven! I slew the previous Overmaster in my eighth year. I began constructing the Mirror of Asmodraxas in my ninth. You are but a mewling babe before my awesome power and intellect!”
Crimson lightning arced from the faux Superwand to trace a crackling web in the air around Merc. He crumpled to the floor, his body shaking as if in the grip of an epileptic seizure.
So much for the big dramatic rescue.
I resumed struggling against my bonds and detected some unexpected slack in the conveyer belt. Rocking side to side forcefully, I succeeded in knocking the wide leather belt off track. It jammed in the rollers and the Perilous Pulp-Grinder ground to a shuddering halt. I found myself hanging upside down off the side of the machine, my head resting uncomfortably on the floor. Not an ideal position, but preferable to being pulverized.
Merc rose slowly to his knees, and then to his feet. His legs trembled like those of a newborn foal. Involuntary tics and twitches danced across his face. His beard smoldered. His left ear appeared to
be on fire. Undaunted by these unpleasantries, he aimed a stiffened right hand at Erimandras. A sheet of golden flame spread from his fingers and shot across the room.
The attack fizzled short of the Overmaster’s throne, blocked by protective magic. Erimandras scoffed, flicked the wand, and shot another bolt of crimson lighting at Merc. Crackling bands of eldritch energy clung to Mercury like a funeral wreath. Yet he gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and did not fall.
I twisted my body until the strap around my chest caught on a projected strut. Using its leverage, I squirmed my arms and shoulders free. With use of my hands restored, I unbuckled the other straps and rolled to the floor. My legs felt about as solid as watery porridge. The Awful Agony Matrix had taken a terrible toll on my body. Even drawing breath was painful. I felt too weak to stand.
“Cosmo has freed himself,” said Asmodraxas. “Stop him.”
“As you command.”
Erimandras pointed the replica Superwand at me. Suddenly much more motivated to move, I rolled beneath the grinder apparatus and scooted out on the other side as a bolt of red lightning scorched the floor behind me. The next shot blasted the Perilous Pulp-Grinder to bits. I found myself on my hands and knees, with no cover in sight.
“Time out?” I said.
Merc used this diversion to reach out with his mind and snatch the faux Superwand from the Overmaster’s grasp. No protective spell countered that tactic. The weapon flew to my partner’s hand.
“Have a taste of your own medicine, brat!”
Merc pointed the wand at the sinister youth. Nothing happened.
“Only I control the wand,” said Erimandras.
“It was worth a try,” said Merc. “I’ve had enough of this thing anyway.” He bent the wand in two over his knee and flipped it into the fire pit.
“You broke my wand!” wailed Erimandras. “It was a collector’s item, you fool!” There was a distinct grating whine of childish petulance in his voice.
“I’ll break you next,” said Merc.
“You wish!” said the Overmaster.
“Cosmo! Can you stand?” said Merc, not taking his eyes off his foe.
“Let me see.” I staggered to my feet. “Yes. Yes, I can.”
“Then let’s go.”
Merc ran left and I went right, charging around the pit. I made for the relics of the Mighty Champion.
“Sinister Snake Eyes!” said Erimandras. His eyes flared with a flash of red light. Two ruby red cobras emerged from his pupils, streaked through the air, and hit the floor at the base of the Ruling Conclave’s pyramid of thrones. The unnatural snakes slithered my way, hissing, and flicking their evil tongues. I reversed course, back around the pit.
Erimandras shifted his attention to Mercury and raised clenched fists above his head.
“For you, Boltblaster, a Pointed Rebuke!”
The Overmaster opened his hands. A swarm of glittering needles shot toward Merc.
Merc responded with a rude gesture that transformed the needles into harmless safety pins mid-flight. They pinged harmlessly off him as he bounded up the tiered dais.
I ran all the way around the pit, the conjured serpents at my heels. As I passed the stone table I snatched up Overwhelm. Sword in hand, I turned and beheaded the two snakes with a single stroke.
“Erimandras!” I called, pointing Overwhelm at the Overmaster. “If Merc doesn’t finish you, I will!”
“Face me first, Cosmo!”
Natalia Slash crawled from the fire pit, her almost invincible armor glowing as if fresh from the forge, shining red against the black flames. The exposed portion of her face sizzled like a burnt steak. Her sword shone like a brand.
My own armor was still on the table. I lacked time even to snatch up my shield before she was upon me. Our blades met with a resounding clang.
Overwhelm barely deflected her first blow. It was downhill from there, a replay of our last encounter. Natalia was unrelenting. She drove me steadily back, never letting up, forcing me just about anywhere she wanted me to go. She herded me twice around the remains of the Perilous Pulp-Grinder, to the far wall, and back to the pit again. Overwhelm defended me, but I didn’t know how much longer I could maintain my grip on the sword. Already my fingers felt like jelly from the endless clashing of our blades. The ring of steel was in my ears, my arm was growing numb.
Well, the ring of miraculum, but close enough.
Meanwhile, Erimandras hurled Merc back with a conjured avalanche of glass marbles. As he tumbled down the pyramid, Merc summoned a glowing Lasso of Light with which he snared the Overmaster, dragging him down too. Both of them fell against the stone table. As the lambent lasso dissolved, Merc punched Erimandras in the face, bloodying his nose.
“You dare to physically assault me?” said the Overmaster, clambering to his feet.
“Looks that way,” said Merc.
“I have endured enough! Now I shall destroy you with ultimate magic. Behold! The Cards of Power!” He withdrew from an inner pocket a glowing deck of playing cards decorated with the images of sneering demons.
Merc shrugged.
“Why do you not quake in abject fear?” demanded Erimandras.
“Two can play that game,” said Merc, producing a deck of his own that bore his personal emblem of crossed power bolts.
Erimandras quickly suppressed his surprise. “So be it,” he said. The Overmaster shuffled and fanned his deck. “Pick a card, any card.”
Across the room, I remained on the defensive. Natalia sneered her contempt for me.
“You are nothing, Cosmo! A straw man, a posturing pretender.”
“Then why are you trying so hard to kill me?”
“Your reputation, though undeserved, will enhance my own when I defeat you. I’ll be able to raise my rates.”
“You want to kill me for the marketing pop? That’s cold.”
“That’s business.”
“A cold business then.”
Natalia fell back half a step. I realized that my parries were growing more polished and less desperate as our duel wore on. Even with my layman’s grasp of swordplay, I could see that Overwhelm was adapting to my opponent’s style. The sword was adjusting to better counter her moves and tactics. The longer we fought, the more Overwhelm would learn. Soon we would be evenly matched. And if my enchanted sword could defend against her attacks, it could also turn them back on her. In time, if I lived so long, Overwhelm might absorb enough of her skill for me to win. Our last bout had been too brief, but now Natalia’s best moves, perfected as she could never perfect them, would be mine.
I smiled. The balance was tilting in my favor—and she knew it. I made a conscious effort to take the offensive, surprising her. Now it was Natalia’s turn to retreat.
“I’ve toyed with you long enough!” I said, giddy with the thought that I might not only survive, but win, this fight.
“From incompetence to mastery in minutes? It can only be the sword, no ability of yours, peasant!”
“Hey, I'll take it!”
Natalia abruptly broke off the clash of arms and ran. She put a dozen yards between us in just a few strides. As I stood there dumbly, perplexed by her sudden retreat, she hurled one of her many throwing knives at me. Overwhelm deflected it, but they kept coming, five more in rapid succession. I turned aside four. The fifth skewered the biceps of my sword arm. I dropped Overwhelm and tugged the dagger free as Natalia charged again, kicking my sword away. Overwhelm skittered across the floor and into the fire pit. Natalia shoved me with her free hand, knocking me to the floor. Her gauntlet, still hot from her turn in the pit, burned my bare skin and crisped my chest hairs. So too did her metal boot as she pinned me to the floor. She held her sword in a double grip, ready to deliver the killing stroke.
“You tire of toying with me, do you? Peasant dog! No one toys with Natalia Slash!”
“A joke! A bad joke! In poor taste! I apologize!”
“Too late.”
I grabbed her ankles to p
ull her off balance. She didn’t budge.
“Ow! Ow!” I blew on my blistered fingers.
“Are you done?” she asked.
“It looks that way.”
I wished I had Overwhelm in my hand. Suddenly I did! Another wondrous power of the sword was revealed as it responded to my mental summons by flying out of the flames and into my grasp. I thrust upward, knocking Natalia’s sword from her hands and slashing both her thighs. She leapt back. I sprang to my feet, kicking her sword away behind me. Natalia launched another flurry of knives, but this time I deflected them all. Overwhelm now had the measure of her throwing style. I advanced. She gave ground, but was too proud to flee.
Natalia lunged and grabbed Overwhelm’s blade in an attempt to wrest the weapon from my hand. A flick of my arm and her palms dripped blood through sundered gauntlets.
“I could have easily severed your hands,” I said.
“Yet you didn’t. You are a fool.”
“That was a desperate move. Just give up already.”
“Would you?”
“No,” I admitted.
“I have never known defeat.”
“Yes, I recall how badly you trounced Yezgar.”
“I mean I have never been bested by man or woman. Monsters don’t count.”
“Nor do the lives of those you kill for profit.”
She had her back against the wall now. I didn’t get too close, just in case she had another trick up her sleeve.
“I am a warrior true.”
“You are a truly beaten warrior.”
She hung her head. “Very well. You have won, Jason Cosmo, though it would never have been so without that accursed sword.”
“I would call it a blessed sword. But are you suggesting it would have been a fair fight otherwise? You’ve been doing this all your life. I was growing turnips a few weeks ago!”
“The sword beat me, not you,” said Natalia. She fell to her knees and removed her helm. Her face was proud and beautiful despite the grime and blood and burns. Long chestnut colored hair lay flattened against her head in coiled braids. Her defiant grey eyes met mine.
