That allowed Gellor to recover lost ground. In the second or two gained thus, the troubador sent his rippling melodies forth with renewed vigor, and the doom that encroached all around him was beaten back, withered, and decayed. "Thank you, Lady," he whispered as he saw Leda gasp and fall. "This will be for you," he added as his fingers fairly flew in sweeping circles across the silver strings of the kanteel. For all Gellor knew, the dark elf had died in order to help him, and it seemed likely that the demoness would soon slay him, too. Despite that, the troubador meant to make the victory as costly and painful as possible.
Zuggtmoy's bulk actually shuddered as the music swept over it. What was inimical to her fungi was hurtful, if not fatal, to the demoness. Cursing bard and drow for the piercing torments she now suffered, Zuggtmoy set to work on her Cauldron of Corruption with redoubled effort. Pay — she would make these mortals pay and pay!
"And Evil to Evil!" Gord shouted that cry as he took the lightless portion of Courflamme and faced Iuz. The cambion was groveling, on his knees, frantically trying to haul his great sword from its sheath of loamy stuff. In his anxiety and haste, Iuz was careless about how and where he grabbed the weapon, and his long, steely-fingered hands were cut and bloody from where they had contacted the sword's keen edge.
"Now, Now!" Iuz shrieked in relief and Joy as he finally managed to stand upright, grasp the length of the two-handed sword's hilt, and again be armed to attack in his dark mind, the cambion knew that this time he would not fall. With a grimace of evil certainty, Iuz spun to where he knew his opponent was.
Gord's words were spoken at that moment. The inky metal of Courflamme fairly danced within itself as it leaped forward to sheathe itself in the red-pink body of the gross half-demon. In Courflamme shot, piercing lung, vein, artery, heart, and the cambion s hide on the other side as it had its way with the thing's body on its upward journey. Out it came, as quickly as the dead-black blade had entered, and only a sundry few of the cambion's innards were further damaged by the withdrawal. It occurred so quickly that the vaunted Lord of Pain had felt hardly a twinge.
Iuz stood still for a second, shocked as realization dawned suddenly in his brain. Then he tried to bring up the massive sword he still held in his lacerated hands. "You . . . little . . . mortal fool! You can never slay .. . me . . . Iuz . . . thus! I'll. .. I'll. . And then the words Iuz was tiying to speak were cut off by a gush of foul, maroon blood from deep inside his body. Even then, the spawn of Iggwilv was not through. Spewing the ichorous gore as he came, Iuz advanced like an automaton, leaden foot after leaden foot, sword trembling but rising higher for a last blow against this small human who had killed him.
"And from Evil, all Evil!" Gord shouted again. The ebon longsword darted out and took Iuz full in the throat. The cambion's eyes were mad with fear at that, for the terrible sword would drink from him all existence. Iuz tried to move, tried to avoid that last, truly finishing thrust. But there was no counterpart of Leda to save the fiend from his deserved end. Courflamme struck, and the corpse of Iuz crashed down upon the moldering floor of the grotto. Nevermore would the cambion rise from that grave.
At that, the dark length of Courflamme shot from Gord's hand and flew to merge once again with its crystalline twin. The diamondlike half had been slowly dimming, and its inner light had become sluggish as the bane of the scimitar-Theorpart worked through it. The rejoining changed that in an instant. The whole that was now Courflamme shimmered, and the interplay of light and dark with the adders of flaming scarlet hue suddenly ceased. Down fell the scimitar with a dull thud. Down fell Iuz's sword. Courflamme too dropped, but it came down point first, burying itself but a little, standing in victory above its foe. Where the curved blade of the red-hued scimitar had lain was now the convoluted metal of the relic called the Awakener. Nearby lay the Initiator which Leda had thrown to save her champion from certain death.
Gord picked up Awakener in his right hand. Initiator in his left. Ignoring the beckoning hilt of Courflamme, the champion of Balance turned to where his comrades struggled desperately against the demoness. "Zuggtmoy!" he shouted, and Gord's voice filled the whole of the grotto with such commanding sound that a god would have trembled at it.
Startled, the demoness looked up from her deadly little kettle. What she observed through her dull eyespots made Zuggtmoy quake. The mass of her fungoid form, elephantine in proportion, disgusting in shape, shook as if convulsed. "Stay! Spare me, and—" She had seen the corpse of Iuz, sensed the destruction of the witch, now observed the twin Theorparts pointed directly at her. In that moment Zuggtmoy knew her end was also near, and with desperation the greatest of demonesses sought to plead for her existence.
"No," was all Gord whispered at Zuggtmoy's first utterances. Two jagged rays issued from him, each Theorpart sending forth its killing force. The twin beams struck Zuggtmoy squarely, and nothing remained of the queen of fungi thereafter.
If a deep and hollow laughter rolled faintly through the grotto then, Gord ignored it.
Chapter 12
"WHERE IS LEDA?" It was more a demand to know than a question.
"What? I don't know," Gellor stammered, still dazed by the sudden blaze that had destroyed the demoness. "Leda was there," he said, pointing to a place on the grotto's floor. "She sent some dweomer to Zuggtmoy to distract the demoness, I think. I felt the rebuke and force of Zuggtmoy's counter to that. Leda was stunned by the attack, but it enabled me to fight back — to stay alive! Then I lost track because I was again fully occupied in the duel."
Gord ran to the place his comrade indicated. The soft stuff of the floor retained impressions of heel marks and an indentation where a small, mail-clad form might have lain. "Help me search, Gellor," he called. "You have far more skill at such work than I."
Only their own tracks entering the place led back to the stairway. "She must be somewhere in this grotto," the troubador ventured. "Leda hasn't left this way."
"No. She isn't here. I can read nothing of her — no thoughts, not a glimmer of her aura. She has . . . gone!"
"You don't think . . . ?" Gellor didn't finish the question, for the thought was too painful for him, let along his young friend.
There was steel in the young champion's voice as he filled in the words. "That she was blasted in the conflagration which consumed Zuggtmoy? Not if she was where you said she fell." Gord paused, then went to the place again. Small foot-marks were there, and the steps went toward the spot where the fungoid demoness had squatted. "By the gods, no! It can not be!"
Gellor came to stand beside him. Then, feeling inadequate, looking for something, anything to alleviate the tension, the bard studied the area. His enchanted eye saw far more than Gord's own eyes did, even with the paranormal perceptions the champion now possessed.
"Gord! You are right! See?" Gellor pointed to a place and watched his comrade's face. Gord's bleak expression didn't change. "You can't see? Well, I do clearly enough, old friend. Leda went no farther than this spot. The blast which devoured Zuggtmoy couldn't have harmed her; the distance is too great."
"Then tell me where her footprints lead!"
Gellor stooped, peered, then arose shaking his iron-streaked locks. "Leda's steps end here. She went nowhere beyond this spot, not even backward. Here her trail simply vanishes!"
Gord took some small comfort in that. "At least she is not dead — from anything which took place here, anyway. We must find her, but I can't search properly from this place. Watch for any enemies while I gather the Theorparts and reclaim Courflamme."