“Tomanāk! ” he bellowed, and the demon reared up on four legs, fanning its bat wings and howling in fury at the sound of that name. Two forelimbs spread wide, reaching out, and for all his towering inches, Bahzell was a pygmy as he charged straight into its grasp.
Brandark shouted a despairing curse and floundered down the hill in Bahzell’s wake, then bounced back with a bone-shaking crash as he ran full tilt into an unseen barrier. He staggered back upright, smashing at the invisible wall with his sword and all the fury of his own Rage, but it refused to yield. He couldn’t pass it, couldn’t follow. He could only watch in sick horror as his best friend hurled himself at his titanic foe.
“BAHZELL! ” the demon thundered yet again, lashing out with talonlike claws thicker than Bahzell’s arm, but the Horse Stealer twisted impossibly, still hurtling forward. A slime-dripping claw grated along his mail, ripping away a shower of iron scales, and his sword whistled down in a two-handed blow. It struck like a steel avalanche, and eye-tearing blue light flashed as it sheared through segmented bony armor and flesh. Viscous blood spouted, and the monster shrieked and snatched the wounded limb back as if from the heart of a fire, but its other forelimb slashed in to strike Bahzell from behind.
The impact hurled him from his feet. He hit hard, bouncing through the muddy ash of the ancient forest fire, slithering on his belly, but somehow he retained his sword. He twisted around, slowing his headlong sprawl, and rolled back to his knees, and he was under the demon. Its belly loomed above him, plated in thick black scales, and the monster tossed its head, searching for its prey while it howled.
There was no more fear in Bahzell Bahnakson. The Rage was upon him, and something else came with it. A terrible something, equally bright yet hotter-a focused purpose, a total concentration, that melded with the Rage. It fanned the Rage, fueled it, wrapped it about him and drove him to his feet.
Brandark slid down the invisible wall, and his eyes were huge as Bahzell lunged upright under the demon’s belly. The Horse Stealer glowed in the darkness, glittering with a blinding blue corona. A stab of brilliance flashed along his blade as he thrust straight upward, and the demon shrieked as three feet of flaming steel punched through its scales.
The monster hurled itself backward with a bubbling, head-lashing howl and curled its wounded forelimb against its body, twisting back and forth while thick, stinking blood pulsed from its belly. It stood that way for one endless second, staring at the hradani mite who’d dared set steel to its flesh, and Bahzell snarled into its faceted, insect eyes.
“Come on, then!” he bellowed, and the demon’s head swept down in a murderous arc. Its pincers plowed leaf mold and earth as they ripped back up in a stroke fit to disembowel a titan, and Bahzell stepped straight into them. He brought his blade down to meet them in a howling half-circle of light, and the splintering sound of that impact shook the forest.
Nothing mortal could have withstood the force of the demon’s attack, and Bahzell flew backward. He crashed into the oak it had torn to splinters and bounced from the riven trunk, but his explosive grunt of anguish was lost in the monster’s scream as its pincer split. Not even Bahzell’s stupendous blow could shear it off, but the slick black horn tore and cracked, dangling uselessly, and the Horse Stealer staggered back to his feet.
“Tomanāk! ” he bellowed once more, slashing out in a perfectly timed stroke, and the demon shrieked afresh as glowing steel split one huge eye. The maimed head jerked back and away, and then Bahzell was under it once more, and his sword spat blue fire as it sheared through the monster’s other foreleg.
Brandark Brandarkson crouched on his knees, fighting to believe his own eyes, as the demon crashed half on its side under the fury of Bahzell’s attack. It clawed back up, scattering mud and leaves and the splintered limbs of trees, and Bahzell’s sword crashed down again. Split scales spat shards of horn, blood spouted, and the demon screamed yet again-this time with a high, squealing note of panic-and scrabbled away from its tiny foe.
But Bahzell followed it, wading into its stench and fury, hurling blow after blow into its teeth. It clawed and bit, but it was half-blind, half-crippled by the damage to its limbs. Flailing wings kept it upright, yet it had lost its lizard-quick sureness. It floundered and beat at him, and he staggered under its massive blows, but he kept his footing, and his blade howled in his hands. He was too close for the demon’s fangs to get a clear stroke at him, and he was a thing of steel and wires, not flesh and bone. Tireless and implacable, absorbing the frantic blows he couldn’t avoid and striking again and again and again.
The demon slipped and half fell once more, then lunged up, wings beating madly, but that terrible blue sword smashed into its left wing. It sheared through gristle and muscle and bone, and the monster’s wordless bellow of agony filled the world. It turned on Bahzell with renewed fury, yet now it was the fury of desperation, and Bahzell howled Tomanāk’s name yet again and flung himself bodily upon it.
A boot lashed out, driving its toe into the spouting wound in the demon’s wing. A leg straightened, and Brandark stared in disbelief as Bahzell vaulted up onto the monster’s back. The creature shook itself, frantic to throw him off, but he flung his blade back over his shoulder, and even through the demon’s bellows, Brandark heard his grunt as he brought the sword down.
Five feet of razored steel-and that glittering blue nimbus-exploded across a sinuous, armored neck with an ear-shattering CRACK ! It ripped through half-inch scale like tissue, bit deep into unnatural flesh, and the demon stiffened with a whip-crack jerk of agony. For one instant it stood, fanged mouth open in a terrible, soundless shriek, and then it crashed down, toppling in dreadful slow motion-a mountain of horn and scale crumbling in on itself-and took Bahzell with it in its ruin.
Chapter Thirty-two
The hurricane died, and quiet fell like a hammer, broken only by a soft, fitful patter-the sound of the last broken branches, falling as the wind released them. The invisible barrier which had blocked Brandark vanished, and he floundered to his feet and down the muddy hill to the mountainous, crumpled heap of the demon, still twitching with the last flicker of its unnatural vitality while Bahzell lay facedown, half buried under one outthrust limb.
Brandark flung himself to his knees, and his hand trembled with more than the aftermath of the Rage as he touched the side of Bahzell’s neck, then gasped in relief at the slow, strong throb of the Horse Stealer’s pulse. The spiderlike limb across him was massive as a tree trunk, but the Bloody Sword wrapped his arms around it and heaved. It took all his strength to shift it, yet he managed to move it just far enough to haul Bahzell from under it.
He dragged his friend clear, circling round upwind of the fallen demon to get out of the worst of its stench, and arranged him on his back. Bahzell was bruised, battered, and filthy with foul-smelling blood, and huge streaks of steel plates had been ripped from his scale mail, but Brandark heaved an even deeper sigh of relief as he examined him. Hradani tended to survive anything that didn’t kill them outright, and, impossible as it seemed, Bahzell didn’t even seem to have any broken bones. The Bloody Sword slumped down on his heels in disbelief. He’d seen it with his own eyes, and it didn’t help. He still didn’t believe it.
The eerie blackness faded into the more natural dimness of evening, and Brandark shook himself. He thrust himself back upright with the stiffness of an old, old man and picked his way back down to the demon. It took him several minutes to spot Bahzell’s sword-it was hidden almost to the hilt under the demon’s body-and even longer to summon the courage to touch it. Brandark knew that blade as well as his own, but the crackling blue corona that had turned it into a weapon out of legend left him off balance and unsure. No trace of that eldritch glare remained, yet he had to draw a deep breath and clench his jaw before he gripped the hilt. Nothing happened, and he pulled it from under the monster and carried it gingerly back up the slope just as Bahzell groaned and began to stir.