At Westgate, a commander recalled its troops from their work and sent for reinforcements. The demons retreated at the order, some snarling and baring their teeth in anger.
The commander sniffed at the air, turning its head, checking the air for a scent it recognized, a scent it feared and hated. Moving up to the gate, it glared into the darkness outside the city wall-darkness lit by the Great Eye. Its muzzle twitched in alarm.
“Weapons out-”
The sweep of a claw cut through its back, rending the flesh from the bone in a spray of watery blood. The demon fell to the ground, lifeless. A huge tiger stood over its body, the demon’s fur hanging from its paw. The enemy fired its deadly bolts at the beast, but it had vanished.
“Find it!” a demon yelled, pointing up the street.
Five of the troops obeyed the command, running after the tiger with the speed of darkness, rounding corners and searching through hidden alleys and side streets.
Within minutes, their bodies were thrown into the avenue, dismembered, rent and torn by giant claws.
The demons were furious. Red explosions concussed the air, scattering boxes, wood, and metal. The invisible enemy did not appear to have been hit. More demons were struck down, and the creatures began to mill about in frustration.
“Reinforcements!” cried one, waving up the street.
Another contingent of demons moved cautiously toward their position, searching the darkness with keen yellow eyes, sniffing at the air in distaste. They surged over a carriage, surrounding it, using it as a point of cover. Eventually they reached the first group, and a demon wearing a harness with a gold medallion in the center asked what had happened.
In reply, some of the demons pointed to their dead leader. “We were told the cats were dead,” it said, snarling.
“I guess someone made a mistake,” said another.
“Yeah, I wonder what other mistakes they’ve made this night. You stay here and wait for additional troops. When they arrive, work on opening that gate.” It turned, directing the forces into position. “Form into squads and find the enemy. I want them dead!”
Twisted bodies gathered together into groups of five with a quickness and efficiency the Knights of Solamnia would have envied. They appeared to need no further guidance than a single order, cooperating perfectly with one another. After a moment they moved out, lithe forms, shadow in shadows.
None of them came back.
Several demons began to edge forward of their own volition, unwilling to wait when the promise of battle called to them, but the commander told them to stay, hissing the words between clenched fangs. “Hold your position!”
Fifteen men and women stepped out from the alleys and boulevards. They held no weapons. Blood dripped from their hands. Their eyes glistened with triumph. They made no sound of running, their movements smooth and fluid.
“Hah! Humans!” spat one demon.
It and its fellows released a barrage of red beams that surged through the air-deadly bolts reaching out for their targets, striking ground and building, sending up clouds of dust and dirt. But the attackers were upon them in an instant, closing the distance with incredible speed.
“These are not humans!” the leader yelled. “They are the enemy!”
Lions leaped toward their victims, bringing five down immediately under their great weight, killing five more within seconds. The demons fell back, battling with claw and fang and red-glowing wand, yellow eyes flaring. The demons lost half their number within the first minute; the lions, five.
Rallying his forces, the commander ordered, “Pull back and regroup! They cannot win!”
The demon troops immediately obeyed, fighting back-to-back until they reached their rapidly forming lines. They pushed forward again, the shock of impact sending the giant cats back to the gate. There were few left. They knew they could not hold.
“Destroy them! Now!”
But the demons hesitated. The city stood silent, waiting. Both sides ceased their battle, listening.
A sound of distant thunder filled the fields outside the great walls, thunder that moved closer and closer until it was upon the gates themselves. Suddenly, a thousand cats burst through the portcullis, their small bodies sliding easily between the great plates mounted on the bars, the barriers spaced together so closely that only their slim forms would fit. They ran past their larger brethren and attacked the demons, tiny claws and fangs digging into the twisted bodies, inflicting wounds that dark magic could not heal.
The demons at the gate were destroyed, their bodies lying torn on the perfect white stone, and more cats ran over and past them, advancing on silent paws to fulfill the prophecy.
“There it is, Caramon,” Earwig said, pointing his hoopak toward the stone dais. “The altar!”
“Yes, I think you’re right,” the fighter replied, standing in the cavern’s entrance, his eyes attempting to pierce the dimness ahead.
The kender started to dart forward, but Caramon laid a restraining hand on the small shoulder. “Wait a minute. There might be guards. Can you see anything?”
Earwig stared with all his might. “No, nothing.”
“I don’t either. But I think I hear something.”
“Caramon,” said Earwig after a moment. “I can’t hear anything because your heart’s beating too loudly. Do you think you could make it stop?”
“What do you want me to do? Drop dead? Besides, that’s not my heartbeat! It’s the same noise I’m hearing, and it sounds like cogs grinding together.”
“Are you sure?” said Earwig skeptically. “It sounds just like a heartbeat to me.”
“Yes, I’m sure!” Caramon snapped. “Well, come on. We can’t stand here all night.”
The two moved forward. The cavern was much the same as the one Earwig had discovered in the city above. There were the same flickering torches, the same stone dais. But, reaching the entrance, they saw something on top of the dais-the altar used to create the gate between the Abyss and Krynn.
It appeared to be a large box, uneven on all sides, adorned with gold and silver and bronze. Strange, evil-looking figures had been engraved on its shining surface.
“Wow!” Earwig cried and, before Caramon could stop him, the kender dashed into the room.
“No! Wait!” the fighter yelled.
“What? What is it?” Earwig cried in excitement, spinning around. “What’s wrong?”
Caramon’s heart was in his throat. He had to cough to get it back down. “Just … don’t ever … run into a … place like this … without looking first!”
“All right, Caramon.”
The fighter winced, anticipating the next question.
“Why?” asked Earwig.
“I just thought you might like to live a little longer!” Caramon growled. The warrior stared into the room, blinking his eyes, raising his sword. “Earwig, behind you!” he shouted.
“Whu-?” The kender swung his hoopak around in a great arc. “What is it, Caramon?” he shouted, batting at nothing. “I can’t see anything!”
“That-thing,” Caramon cried, pointing. “It looks like a … a … hand!”
“Oh, yeah! Wow!”
A slender, sinuous, extraordinarily beautiful arm appeared out of the air, hand waving aimlessly, seemingly grasping for something it could not see.
Earwig reached up his own hand. “Hullo. My name’s-”
“No!” shrieked Caramon, but the arm passed straight through Earwig’s fingers.
Earwig stared. “Well, how rude!”
The kender tried to catch the hand again, but it always passed right through him. Growing bored, he skipped over to inspect the box.
Caramon held his bastard sword, ready to swing. He stepped slowly into the room, turning to regard the entrance, then turned back to the box.