Sunbright stood unmoving, pondering. His thoughts were overwhelmed by the depth of Sysquemalyn's treachery. To kill her a hundred times would barely sate his barbarian thirst for revenge. Now, through vanity and foolishness, she'd endangered the whole world, all Sunbright had ever known and a thousand times that. Perhaps her death would alleviate some of the suffering, both past and future.
Unconsciously, he found himself raising his sword and taking aim.
"Don't hesitate, mud man." Exhausted and discouraged, Sysquemalyn hung, unresisting. "Strike, and get it over with."
The great sword bobbed in the air as if it were alive and thirsty. Harvester of Blood was its name, but Sunbright hadn't named it. Vaguely he wondered what he would have named the blade, given the chance. But that was a thought for another time.
The barbarian backed away from the shivering mage, dropping the curved sword tip to touch stone.
"No."
Chapter 15
"What?"
The pit fiend was not used to being disobeyed. Its tusked mouth fell open like a cavern, and fire and smoke gushed on its breath. The lesser fiends ducked their heads. A pair of erinyes perched on an outcrop were blasted from the wall, feathered wings afire, to spiral and plunge into the roiling lava below.
Standing foremost on the promontory, Sunbright felt the heat of the pit fiend's fury, felt his skin and eyeballs dry, his hair tingle as if about to ignite. Too, the roiling, sulfurous smoke sickened him, made his stomach churn, until he'd have given a year of his life for one breath of pure tundra air. The barbarian fought to keep his knees from shaking. To fight berserk in battle was one thing, for a man was busy then. But to stand up to a fiend and pretend calm was quite another. It gave a body too much time to think of the awful consequences. Still, a warrior's wit must be a weapon too, as his people said.
So he hollered down, "I mean, no, not without some other reward!"
This gave the pit fiend pause. The idea of bargaining-especially when it could easily renege-was familiar and diverting. Scratching its lower lip with a claw like a slate shingle, it rumbled, "Other reward? You dicker from a precarious perch, manling. Here in my high hall I hold the whip. I offer you revenge, and you demand else. What would you offer in return?"
"If I do this thing-behead Ruellana, or Sysquemalyn, as she's called-will you let me and my friends go?"
The pit fiend frowned as it pretended to ponder, then grinned tuskily. "To turn a human phrase, hell, no!" It gobbled at its own wit, and the ranks of underlings below its feet hooted and chortled and applauded.
Sunbright waited, impassive, and let them laugh. He wasn't sure what he bargained for except time. Perhaps the two mages behind him would wave their wands and pull a rabbit from a hat like some medicine-show mime in the marketplace. Perhaps they could rip open a portal for escape. Perhaps Greenwillow would spot a bolt hole and get away. Any delay could be valuable.
Still chuckling, the pit fiend asked, "What else, mortal?"
"Consider this," offered Sunbright. "I'll execute this mage and stay on as your headsman for one year if you release my friends."
He nodded over his shoulder, risking a glance at the others. Through yellow-gray smoke he saw Greenwillow standing against the back wall, off to one side where she could watch the pit fiend. Her hands were empty, but her thumbs rested on her hips, ready to draw steel in a second. Candlemas- whom Sunbright still thought of as Chandler, and not exactly a friend- stood upright, podgy and bald and bearded but solid-looking. His arms crossed his chest, and for a second Sunbright was irritated at the man's feigned casualness. Then he realized the mage could demonstrate non-aggression only by folding his arms: free hands in any position might be generating a spell. The raven pecked at rock, either oblivious or stupid or posing.
The pit fiend wobbled its great horned head and flapped its leather wings erratically, like a sea gull battered by storm winds. It addressed not just Sunbright, but also all its followers as it bellowed, "You misunderstand, insect! Here, I reign supreme! There are no quibbles, no bargains, no repeals. You bargain whether to sever this upstart's head or not, but I say you'll do as ordered. Whether you become a headsman or lemure or black pudding or shoe leather is up to me and me alone. And so, I command you, strike off her head and kick it down here!"
Well, it was worth a shot, Sunbright thought philosophically. He hadn't really expected compassion or honor from a fiend any more than he would from a tax collector. And he could think of nothing else to do to stall for time.
So he spit over the promontory into the lake of lava and took a fresh grip on Harvester. He shouted loudly enough for all to hear, "No, I won't do it! Whatever this creature-be she Ruellana or Sysquemalyn or some other-has done to me, she is still closer to me than you and yours! I will not harm one of us for the amusement of such as you."
So saying, the barbarian stepped back a pace to raise Harvester high behind his shoulder, as if he'd lop off the head of the pit fiend itself. Then he bobbed his chin. "Bring on the fiends of the Nine Hells! Sunbright Steelshanks, son of Sevenhaunt and Monkberry, child of the Raven Clan of the Rengarth tribe, bids you battle the Harvester of Blood!"
Enraged at the human's presumption, the pit fiend raised long arms, howled some ancient oath, and pointed broken claws at the single man on the high ledge. "Attack!"
In a flash, Greenwillow was at Sunbright's side, calling, "Swing hard but spare me!" She added a bright, star-eyed smile, then turned to the grim work to come-their last battle, they both knew.
First to attack were the winged erinyes. A dozen or more, naked but for wings, flapped and swooped at them. Clutched in both hands were chunks of broken stalactites like flint daggers.
Sunbright waited, timing the attack, then swept Harvester like a long-bladed scythe. The sword sheared through a wrist, hacked toes from a foot, lopped off a wing. Out of control, one erinyes flipped over onto its back in midair, then plummeted toward the lava pool, keening like a hog at slaughter. Another, beating its wings at Sunbright's head, had its belly sliced so a loop of guts spurted loose. A third, creased across the forehead, flipped backward and crashed before Greenwillow's feet. Between jabs, the elf kicked the creature over the edge.
The yellow-haunted sky was a sea of skin and wings and slashing daggers. Up close, Sunbright could see that the erinyes had complexions as chalk-white as those of a corpse, and their wings were not lustrous and sharp like a live bird's, but dusty and ragged. Nor did they bleed when struck; it was as if he'd sliced leather. Sunbright didn't strike to kill, in case he fetched Harvester up in a gut or bone, but conserved his strength and slashed to keep them back, for even this attack might buy them precious time to retreat-if there were any place to retreat. The erinyes were not hard to kill, for they were clumsy and crowded one another in the small space before the promontory. But they were so many, a dozen at least, with more flying from holes in the cavern walls, a sky-filling flock of them. Had they worked together and simply dived and plowed into the humans, their prey would have been smothered in seconds, As it was, Sunbright could only wade into the assault swinging his great sword.
Elven blade flashing, Greenwillow stayed close enough to the barbarian to keep them from being separated, yet out of range of the awful scything power of Harvester. With her slim true-steel blade, she aimed surgical stabs: throat, eye, breadbasket, groin. Stricken monster-angels would shrill and drop or fall back or flutter away, for they could feel pain, especially from her blade, which contained elements of silver. Yet never was there a pause in the furious, feathered attack. Always there were more and more targets above, before, below, to the side. Hale and hearty as she was, Greenwillow knew her arm would grow weary long before the beasts' numbers were exhausted. Before long, she had been nicked on the forearm by a flint knife, sliced across the back of her hand, pinked on the shoulder before she shoved back the attacker with a blade tip jammed into its mouth. Overhead, the black raven flashed amidst the white monsters, striking and pecking at eyes and fingers. But even it lost black feathers that pinwheeled to ignite in the lava far below.