Gale did. Both drew blades and turned to the pulsing doors of the shrine.
"He's waiting for us," Jak observed. "He thinks it'll make us more afraid."
Gale started for the doors.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
V›ale strode boldly for the pulsing double doors. The wooden slabs beat faster as he neared, as though in anticipation of his touch. Prom behind the doors he heard only silence, but he could feel Yrsillar's brooding presence. The demon was waiting.
Beside him, Jak's breathing came in fearful gasps.
"Easy," he said, and reached down-to-pat Jak on the shoulder.
The hpHHng nodded, struggled to get himself under control. "I'm all right," he said, though his breathing still came hard.
Cale saw that Jak had sheathed his dagger. He now held his magical short sword in one hand and his holy symbol in the other.
Frightened, the little man had fallen bade on his god for strength. Jak had sheathed a weapon of steel to draw a weapon of faith. Gale envied him.
The felt mask in his pocket brought him small comfort. Perhaps someday faith could be a weapon for him, but for today he would rely only on his steel.
Standing before the doors, he took a breath and kicked them in.
The moment the doors flew open, a wave of terror blew from the shrine like a black wind. Gale's throat constricted and fear threatened to overwhelm him. With great effort of will, he fought down the supernatural terror and stood his ground. It's not real, he told himself, it's only magic.
Beside him, Jak let out a soft moan.
"It's magical, Jak," Gale said, and shook him by the shoulder. "Resist it."
"I know," Jak replied through bared teeth. He clutched his holy symbol in his fist so tightly that it must have cut into his palm. Gale saw blood squeezing from between Jak's white knuckles, but the little man held his ground.
"Well provide you no amusement, YrsillarP Gale shouted into the gloomy shrine.
"Damn right," Jak echoed with as much bravado as he could muster.
No response came from within.
They shared a solemn glance and walked through the open doors.
The shrine here looked much the same as the actual shrine back on their home plane. They saw rows of pews that led up to a raised dais and an altar.
From the opposite side of the room, Trailer's voice boomed, the deep bass of distant thunder. "You've grown some since last we met, Champion." His voice dropped so that each syllable dripped with enough malice to make Gale wince. "Some, but not enough."
Gale scanned the room toward the altar. He saw nothing but shadows and darkness.
"There," Jak softly said, and pointed to the left of the altar.
The shadows and gloom suddenly unfolded, vomited forth the titanic form of Yrsillar. Gale's breath caught in his throat.
The demon lord looked majestic. Where the lesser shadow demons had been lean and wiry, Yrsillar was a mountain of bluish-gray flesh. Powerfully muscled, the demon lord's mammoth chest and rippling torso sat squarely atop a pair of tree-trunk-sized legs. He towered over Gale. Naked, but seemingly sexless, a nauseating spiderweb of purple veins pulsed visibly beneath the hairless, leathery skin of his body, each beat keeping time with the pulsing of the shrine doors, each beat no doubt keeping time with the pulsing of the gates back in the real guildhouae.
Overlong, powerful arms ended in bony, three-fingered hands, each digit capped with a black claw as long as Gale's hand. Membranous wings sprouted from his back and spanned the room. He stood still as a statue, a nightmare carved of stone. The voids of his eye sockets, each as large as a Sembian fivestar, stared holes into Gale's soul.
From the darkness around him emerged the shadow demon that Gale had wounded earlier, a miniature version of its master flitting about Yrsillar like a moth flitting about a flame.
Silently, majestically, Yrsillar stepped to the altar and regarded them coldly.
"Not enough," he said again. From behind the demon lord's shoulder, the shadow demon hissed.
This is just how Yrsillar chooses to appear to us," Jak whispered through the side of his mouth. To heighten our fear, but he's made of nothingness, Gale, nothingness. Remember that."
Gale nodded grimly, his eyes on the demons. "We give him nothing," he whispered in reply.
"Damn right," Jak said, and sounded as though he meant it.
They stepped forward into the main aisle, blades ready, and walked halfway to the raised dais and altar. Yrsillar regarded them in unconcerned silence, hate embodied. Gale felt the demon lord's hunger for them as an itching between his shoulders. He ignored it and spat on the floor in defiance.
At that, the shadow demon hissed, pawed at the air, and flitted about in agitation. Yrsillar said nothing, did nothing, simply stood before them and let their fear build."
Silent seconds passed. They seemed an eternity. Though his heart pounded, Gale braved the buzzard of hate and held unflinchingly Yrsillar's baleful gaze. He refused to bow to his fear.
The stress became too much for Jak, however, and he began to lose composure. His breathing sounded like a bellows and he shifted anxiously from foot to foot.
"Dark," he oathed under his breath, "Dark and empty."
Gale placed a hand on Jak's shoulder and shouted at Yrsillar. "You'll get no fear to feed on from us, ecthain." Defiantly, he held forth his enchanted blade. At that, Yrsillar's wings beat once-and he began to laugh in a booming, mocking chuckle.
"Once more you face me, Champion of Mask, and once more I smell the fear you try to hide. You stink of terror." He shifted his gaze to Jak. "As do you."
The little man let out an alarmed peep. "Trickster's toes," he muttered like a chant, "Trickster's hairy toes."
Gale grabbed a fistful of the little man's cloak and gave him a single shake. "We give him nothing," he hissed. "He wants you to be frightened. Give him nothing."
At that, Jak started to rally. He slid a step closer to Gale so that his shoulder bumped Gale's thigh. The touch apparently gave him strength.
"We give him nothing," Jak softly agreed, and his voice sounded steady. Shaking only slightly, he returned Yrsillar's stare. The shadow demon hissed in rage. Yrsillar beat his great wings in anger and looked sharply at Gale. His mocking tone turned deeper, heavy with hate and dripping with hunger.
"Ill savor your soul, Erevis Gale. As I will that of the other Champion."
Jak's breath caught at that, but Yrsillar did not so much as glance at the little man. "Both of you will live out the rest of your lives in pain. I will hold your souls in thrall, feasting at my leisure." He stepped from behind the altar and down the dais, graceful despite his size. Muscle rippled with every move he made.
As though by prearranged plan, the shadow demon darted like an arrow for the ceiling.
"I will force you to watch impotently as I swallow the souls of the ones you love."
Gale thought of Thazienne defiled by this creature and his rage doubled. Guilt, self-loathing, and hate for Yrsillar fueled his anger. He gripped the enchanted long sword, with both hands, knuckles white with anger.
"Leave him to me," he said to Jak through gritted teeth. "You keep an eye on that thing," he indicated the shadow demon, "and watch my back."
Jak nodded once, vigorously. "We'll watch your back," he replied, and held up his holy symbol in a bloody hand. His gaze went to Gale's pocket and he added meaningfully, "You're not alone, Cale. Remember that. If you accept the call, yon are his Champion."
Cale nodded and gripped his shoulder. Jak smiled and looked up to watch the shadow demon.
If you accept the call…
Tentatively, Cale reached for his pocket, for the symbol of Mask, but stopped halfway.
I won't do it this way, he thought to the Shadowlord. Staring death in the face, most everyone turned to the gods. Cale had never consciously acted out of fear. To turn to Mask now would be to surrender too much of himself. He wouldn't.