A soft thump reached them from across the chamber and Lyssa turned quickly toward it. "He always signals his approach, though whether to frighten or warn me I do not know."
Colwyn took a new grip on the glaive. "I have penetrated his lair and battled past every obstacle he's thrown at me. I'm not frightened."
"Be cautious, then, if not fearful, husband-to-be. He is nothing to underestimate."
"I never underestimate death, love. He is a sickness that must be banished from Krull." He showed her the glaive. "I have brought the right medicine to treat with."
"Not in here, Colwyn. This is his sanctuary. He is too powerful here. He seems to draw strength and comfort from this place, though I know not how. You must fight him away from the center."
"You know him better than I. I accept your strategy, wife."
He flung the glaive toward the far side of the chamber, above the place where faint pulses of light could be seen in the distance. The weapon struck the arch above the entrance, shattering it. A second throw buried the doorway with rubble.
"That will not prevent him from following," she told him.
"I do not expect it to. I buy time to prepare." He offered his hand. "Come."
Lyssa accepted his hand and together they made their way out through the gap he'd blasted in the wall, Colwyn glancing backward to make certain nothing sprang on them from behind.
The chamber outside the dome was not the flower gardens decorating the rear courtyard of the White Castle, but to Lyssa it seemed a step closer to paradise. She stepped out onto the smooth floor, relieved to be free of the Beast's sanctuary, and turned to await her lover.
Intent on the newly carved passageway into the dome, she failed to notice the Slayer that had materialized behind her. Its attention was not directed toward her but was focused on the emerging figure just beyond. It raised a long, glowing spear.
At the last instant she sensed movement behind her, turned, and shouted a warning. "Colwyn!"
He ducked instinctively and flung the glaive. Lyssa spun away from the flying splinters as the glaive shattered the spear and continued on to bury itself between the Slayer's eyes. It hung embedded until the Slayer began to topple, then arced back to Colwyn's waiting hand.
Lyssa eyed the sparkling weapon with amazement. "That is no device of recent manufacture."
" 'Tis older than you can imagine. A very wise man led me to it. Some day I'll tell you all about him. A fine story with which to regale our children. Children who will grow up in a world free of the Beast and his minions."
"Our children, yes," she whispered. "A good thought to cling to." She saw that he was looking past her. A glance revealed nothing but empty corridor beyond. "What troubles you, husband?"
"I did not come alone. There were others who've aided me and I see no sign of them."
"Which way did you come?"
He gestured toward the near tunnel. "Down that passage in a near straight line from the outside wall."
"Then perhaps they've gone on ahead to make sure the way out is clear. I'll go and see, if you wish to search this room."
"And have the Slayers take you a second time and carry you off to another cell? No. Stay here and search with your eyes if you wish, but I'll not be separated from you again."
She nodded understandingly. "There may not be time to search for anything." From within the dome the sound of rubble being pushed aside could be heard. "He comes."
"As good a place as any." Colwyn examined ceilins and walls. "He would likely catch us in that tunnel. Here I have more room to maneuver." In any fight he'd always relied on his speed and quickness. Now was not the time to be trapped like a termite in some narrow corridor.
Nor would he abandon this place without learning the fate of his companions. Lyssa must understand that. A glance at her expression told him that she did.
At least they were together again, and together they would cleave this place, on the plane of the living or of the dead. His fingers tensed on the glaive as he waited for whatever might emerge from the crack in the dome's wall.
A grinding noise brought the anxious Torquil to his feet. A quick look showed what he most feared: the opposing spikes of their prison walls had begun to advance slowly toward each other. Their captor had set the game in motion once again.
All three men moved to the center of the room. Then Bardolph was scanning the floor frantically.
"What's wrong?" Oswyn asked him.
"My knife. My golden dagger. There it is!" Before Torquil or Oswyn could put out a hand to restrain their companion, he'd bolted toward the far corner of the room. The dagger had fallen from his belt. Now it lay just beneath the lowest of the protruding spikes.
"Bardolph!" Torquil yelled. "Let it go! Don't be a fool, man!"
Ignoring him, the thief threw himself prone on the floor and stretched out a hand toward the gleaming weapon. Torquil ran up behind him and grabbed at his feet but Bardolph kicked him away.
"Leave me be! Ah, I've got it!" His hand closed around the dagger and he started to worm backward.
But the spikes were tight about his body and not even Torquil's strength could free him,
"Torquil!"
The bandit chief would have preferred that his friend breathe his last with another name on his lips. Too late now. He looked away as the spikes continued slowly onward, until they were locked tight through the twitching form. Save for shouting Torquil's name, Bardolph died quietly.
The walls continued closing on the two survivors, their progress slow but inexorable.
"Fool," Torquil mumbled, not looking at the body in the corner. "I told him once that that royal pigsticker would be the death of him!"
"Some men fix on certain objects the way others fix on women," Oswyn observed quietly as he studied the ceiling. "It's a madness. I like gold as well as the next fellow, but I value my life higher. Bardolph always was a gambler."
Torquil resisted the obvious rejoinder. They had more pressing matters to deal with, all of them long and pointed.
The flashing lights were brighter now. Colwyn tensed as he examined them, his gaze locked on the gap he'd cut through the dome's wall.
When the Beast fell upon them, however, it was from a different place. The monster exploded through the hexagon with as much disregard for the damage thus done as for any harm it might do itself. The ball of green flame it flung at Colwyn looked familiar. It was the same color as the Slayers' spears.
Colwyn barely had enough time to deflect the ball-lightning with the glaive. Though blocked, the fireball had passed near enough to graze his right side. His nostrils brought him the odor of burnt leather and fur. Wincine. he backed awav from the alien colossus. A second blast of energy followed close upon the first, singeing him again.
The relentless onslaught would already have overpowered any dozen well-armed warriors. Ynyr had prepared him to deal with strength but not fury.
Colwyn halted. No more retreats, he told himself angrily. He was in this place, at this moment, from exercising his own will. There was no point in blaming Ynyr, who had done the best by him he could. Ynyr could not help him defeat the Beast. This was his own destiny, the destiny he'd crossed half a world to confront. /
Think! Your opponent is mortal. Huge and intimidating, powerful and alien, but mortal. Use your skill. Press him hard. Wound his confidence if not his body.
The next time one of the green fireballs came toward him he dodged under and forward, deflecting it over his head and following through with the motion to fling the glaive at the Beast. It shattered another fireball in midair, sending tendrils of green flame in all directions. The weapon continued onward to rip into the Beast's arm.