He yanked out and down with all his strength.
The monster's fierce bellow warbled into a plaintive whistle. Raidon disengaged as it slapped its hands up to plug the wounds beneath its chin. While it was distracted, he bent one leg into his chest as if compressing a spring, then kicked straight out. The heel of his foot smashed into the creature's knee. The crack of breaking bone ricocheted down the deck.
The beast convulsed and dropped sideways like a felled pine. Planking splintered beneath its weight.
Raidon took a moment to scan the deck as his foe twitched. Thoster remained upright, trading blows with another monster—the red one. He didn't see Seren anywhere, but a shimmering school of gleamtail jacks swam like stars in a life-size astrolabe around the boat. That was encouraging. But he worried at Seren's apparent absence.
A couple of the crew, more doughty than their fellows hiding in the rigging, pulled themselves up from below deck, daggers, axes, and scimitars in hand.
Another slaad leaped down at Raidon, so quickly it didn't seem to occupy any of the space between where it started and ended its charge. A handy trick! Apparently it was tired of chasing crew around the mainmast. This one's skin was gray and its size was equal to the monk's. It locked eyes with Raidon. Something in its gaze sparkled, and it leaped at him.
The world blinked. He found himself hanging unsupported over the open hatch to the hold. Crewmen on the ladder to one side gaped at him.
Unprepared for the fall, he still managed to utilize the first-year lesson of Xiang Temple, a skill monks were taught before nearly any other: how to fall.
Raidon tucked into a spin and slapped onto his back at the hold's bottom, taking the impact of the descent so perfectly that despite falling an incredible distance, he hardly felt a thing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Year of the Secret (1396 DR) Leaving Darroch Castle, Feywild
Mapathious swept a sword of fire through reality, opening a rent as if cutting through tissue paper. Beyond was a tunnel walled in whirling vapor, shadow, and half-seen silhouettes. A constant roar like a waterfall's poured from it. The spinning hollow extended to the vanishing point. The tunnel promised a turbulent passage.
In its other hand, Mapathious clutched an iron chain from which dangled a rune-scribed bell. The bell's weight would have staggered any lesser being of the same size. But Mapathious was an angel of exploration. In pursuit of its task, strength more potent than its frame pumped from its heart and swept through its semidivine limbs.
The bell was ensorcelled to protect those within it from the ravages of travel in dangerous climes. Mapathious disdained the need for such protections. It preferred to explore alone, swooping into unfamiliar territory as a solitary scout, then reporting back to shining commanders. Were foes massed in ambush? Did demon lords ride forth? Was there truly an adamantine fortress lying across the path, and who had the power to build it in a tenday? These were the kinds of quests the angel usually accepted.
Thus, it gave fleeting consideration to dropping the trek bell into Avernus as a way to forcibly demonstrate its objection to the enterprise. The travelers would be treated to the unique vision of red smoke streaming past their view port in the floor as they plummeted toward a desert pocked with lava seas and iron cities. Even if the enchantment of the trek bell preserved its passengers from the fall, Avernus's residents would soon be upon them. But Mapathious was bound to preserve the bell and serve the one who had summoned him. So it would essay this journey with passengers in tow and not drop them into the Nine Hells.
In truth, once its destination was described, the angel was intrigued. Though loath to admit it, the angel might well have embarked on the journey even without being sworn to find Xxiphu. The angel's nature was to locate, to travel, and to explore. Never before had it visited a city of aboleths, let alone the oldest one in the world.
The mere description of an ancient aboleth city hidden deep in the world's mantle wasn't enough direction for even an angel of exploration. But Mapathious had a guide. It wore an iron ring. Wound around the ring was a strand of dark hair—the hair of a human female whose spirit the angel of exploration could dimly feel through the connection.
It wondered, as it lowered the trek bell into the tornadic passage between space and dimensional walls, what relationship Xxiphu had with another place it had recently heard rumor of. A place called the Citadel of the Outer Void. It hoped no relationship whatever.
Then it was in the roaring passage, surfing the discontinuities of unraveled planes and stretched reality. All its conjectures burned away. Its entire concentration was turned to survival.
*****
Japheth rearranged himself on a curved bench that ran along the bell's interior edge. The surface was wide, padded with dark brown leather, and rose to a comfortable backrest that even included neck support. A very cozy seat, if it weren't for the floor. Because there didn't seem to be one.
The trek bell's interior was divided by a straight metallic wall. He claimed one side, and the Lord of Bats occupied the other.
The warlock had considered asking Neifion to remove the partition. He worried the Lord of Bats might get up to no good, unsupervised. Then he imagined himself and the insidious creature sitting across from each other on a journey of who knew how long. The silence. Those red eyes filled with hate. The veiled threats.
No, he was happy to let the Lords of Bats keep to himself. Japheth would have to trust that the oath of alliance Neifion had sworn would prevent fatal mischief.
The warlock's gaze fell to what would have been the floor in any normal conveyance. However, just like normal, far smaller bells, the trek bell had no floor. As with each previous glance, he blanched as his gaze fell into the snaky, howling tunnel. It was like looking down a tornado's throat, he imagined.
Instead of the earsplitting scream he imagined such a violent scene would generate, he heard only a low, constant roar. The noise was somehow muted by the trek bell, he supposed.
Over this narrow abyss, Japheth's boots dangled. A quiver passed up his spine as he imagined what might happen if the trek bell jolted, knocking him off his seat. Was that possible? Handles on the wall offered at least a semblance of security. He grabbed one. He took a breath and leaned farther over the bench's side.
The cavity walled in swirling mist seemed to stretch down to infinity. It reminded him of something. He didn't have to think long, of course. It was like the terminus of the crimson road, toward which addicts to traveler's dust trudged*Japheth had learned the crimson road was more than metaphor.
He sat back and closed his eyes. His fear of the vortex beneath his feet lost its impact in comparison. He wondered, idly, what it would look like after a pinch of dust in each eye.
No.
Not yet, anyhow. He decided to have a bite to eat to distract himself. He produced a pack from the folds of his cloak, the one he'd liberated from Darroch Castle before they'd embarked. He opened it—
"By Caiphon!" he exclaimed as something inside shuddered and shifted. He overrode his instinct to toss the pack into the chasm.
A creature chittered and pulled itself forth—a tiny wrinkled man, one of Neifion's homunculi. It had stowed away inside the voluminous pack.
Once free of the pack it stood, no more than two feet tall, and regarded Japheth expectantly, as if awaiting its next command.
"What... Why did you hide yourself inside this pack, creature?"
The homunculus made high-pitched noises, from which Japheth could only pick out broken word fragments. It pointed at the partition, where the Lord of Bats resided.
"Neifion told you to do it?"
The creature nodded. Japheth snarled. Was the Lord of Bats spying on him? "You take your direction from me, beast, no longer Neifion. I—"