Dhamon sprang away from the creature, leaping toward the wall and tugging down a narrow shelf.
Monkey skulls and vials of sand thumped against the floor. A lunge toward the creature and he swung the wooden shelf like a sword, snarling unsurprisedly to note it passed through the Rig-image as if nothing was there.
“Demon!” Dhamon cried, as he swung the shelf again and again, the force of his blow sending the scarves and curtains billowing and the ribbons flying, with no damage to the Chaos wight.
“Fool,” the creature returned. It thrust out an arm, smacking heavily into Dhamon’s chest and sending him back several feet.
The hand had certainly felt solid enough—and freezing cold. Dhamon stepped forward woozily and tried to swing the shelf into the wight’s arm. The creature laughed as the shelf passed through it.
“You do not have the ability to hurt me.”
Dhamon dropped the shelf and threw his hands up, fingers closing tight around the wight’s neck. The creature’s open mouth was wide and black like a cave, laughter echoing deep inside. Dhamon squeezed harder and for a brief moment thought he was actually causing harm to the other-worldly creature. He felt the wight shudder, but it was only to effect another appearance change.
“I told you that you cannot hurt me. You have no magic.” This time it took on the visage of Dhamon, speaking in his voice.
Dhamon shifted around, keeping even with his double. His eyes scanned the shelves and walls, looking for a weapon. You say I can’t harm you, he thought, but that could be false.
“No, it’s true, Dhamon Grimwulf. Your thoughts are open to me,” the Dhamon-image said. “You can inflict no pain.”
Then if you can read my mind, let’s see if you can predict this. Dropping his hands, Dhamon balled both fists and drove them into his double’s stomach. His hands went right through the creature and out the other side. It felt as if he’d plunged his arms into an icy mountain stream, and when he pulled them back close he noticed they were bright pink from the cold. He continued to spar with his double, hurling various objects at it. Dancing toward one wall, Dhamon scooped up animal skulls and threw them. He tried vials of the sand and powder, bound sticks, anything he could reach and grab and throw.
The creature followed him into the other room of the shop, where Dhamon continued to pelt it with objects—more skulls, bells, the strong-smelling roots. Those roots actually gave it pause, though no real damage was done.
Magic, Dhamon thought. The roots are magic.
“Yes. Only magic can hurt me. And I tell you this only because you do not have any magic about you.”
Likely there’s nothing magical in this entire town.
“Nothing that can hurt me. Years past I destroyed those things that could bring me pain.”
Dhamon yanked another shelf off the wall and swung it with as much force as he could manage.
There were times he had wished for death—when the scale on his leg gave him so much misery he couldn’t bear the torment—but he couldn’t let this petty creation of Chaos kill him here and now. There was Riki and his child and Maldred to find. There was Fiona to take care of. The wight had mentioned Fiona. Had the thing killed the female Knight?
“I did little enough to the troubled woman,” the duplicate-Dhamon said. “She is physically unharmed.”
Again Dhamon swung the shelf at his mirror image, again and again in a maddened flurry of blows destroying the shop.
“I did little to the scarred beast that goes by three names.”
Dhamon’s wild strokes continued, all ineffectual.
“Three names. Draconian, sivak, and Ragh. The beast thinks very highly of you, human—and that seems to trouble it.”
Despite the chill exuded by his opponent, Dhamon was sweating from the exertion. His rain of blows slowed. There has to be a weakness! his mind screamed.
“I, too, think highly of you. You have not given up, though deep down you understand you cannot defeat me. Deep down you know I cannot be easily dismissed. You glance about for weapons, you scheme. Your mind does not stop. Impressive.”
“I don’t intend to stop! You’ll not slay me!” This time when Dhamon swung, the shelf flew from his sweaty fingers and impacted against a wall. More monkey skulls and jars clattered to the floor.
“I have no wish to slay you.”
Dhamon stepped back, chest heaving, eyes narrowed and locked onto the intense pinpoints of light that served as his duplicate’s eyes. “If you don’t want to kill me, then what’s this about?”
“If I slay you, Dhamon Grimwulf, you will be gone forever—like all the people in this town. I made that mistake once. If I only feed on you, there may come a day when you will pass through this town again, and I will feed once more.” The Dhamon-double raised a hand, flesh becoming black and wispy, finger-tendrils leading away and touching Dhamon’s chest.
Dhamon felt utter despair. He had no desire to put up any further fight. He felt helpless, hopeless, and at the thing’s mercy.
“Give in to me,” the Dhamon-wight said. “Give in completely.”
Dhamon relaxed and felt the finger-tendrils skittering across his chest. Still, some part of him rebelled against surrender, abject defeat. I can’t give in, he told himself.
“You cannot win, Dhamon Grimwulf.”
Dhamon dropped to his knees. I can’t give in.
“As strong as you are, you cannot best me.”
A tear slid down Dhamon’s face and his hands shook. Fight it!
“I must possess you, as I possess this town, but I will take from you only what I took from your companions.” The creature’s wispy black fingers feathered across Dhamon’s brow.
Don’t let it win! Fight it with everything!
The creature’s fingers continued to dance, then suddenly the hands drew back, and the creature tipped its chin up and roared. The Dhamon-form melted like butter. In the span of a heartbeat the wight took on the image of a lizardlike creature with thorny antlers.
“Don’t fight me!” it raged. “You cannot win! You only postpone my feeding, Dhamon. You cannot put it off forever!”
Dhamon took a deep breath and shakily got to his feet. He was trembling from the effects of the creature’s spell and from the cold the thing generated. It took considerable effort just to speak.
“The red dragon couldn’t defeat me,” Dhamon said, fully aware that the creature was reading his thoughts and learning about his confrontation with Malys and about the scale on his leg. “Neither will a lesser, petty creature such as you defeat me. Whatever it is you’re trying to do to my mind, I won’t let you!”
The creature retreated, floating above the floor and scrutinizing Dhamon as it had no previous victim.
“Your mind is strong, human, and, to my astonishment, I admit I find myself unable to steal a part of it… at this moment.”
“I can win,” Dhamon pronounced. “I might not be able to hurt you, but I can keep you from hurting me.”
The wight laughed cruelly, and its eyes grew brighter. “I will not let you win. Give me what I want, Dhamon. Drop your defenses and make this easy and painless for both of us.”
Dhamon defiantly shook his head.
“If you don’t give in to me,” the wight said, each word deliberate and drawn out, “I will slay the ones you call Ragh and Fiona.”
Dhamon sucked in a breath.
“You know I can and will do this, as they are not as formidable as you. I will suck their minds dry and for spite leave you all alone in this nameless place. When our paths cross again, I will once more attack you. Again and again I will come after your mind until I wear you down and succeed. You cannot hold me off forever. Give in to me if you want your companions to live.”
The silence was tense for several minutes.