Do we give him the chance to rise? asked a durthan in red.
No, the vampire said. Take his head and fetch his weapon.
The witch in red retrieved the axe and used it to decapitate its erstwhile owner. It took four bone-splintering chops for the Stag King s head to tumble away from his neck. She stooped and picked it up by one of the antlers.
Now, said the vampire in the silver mask, let s see if his retainers still want to fight when we show them proof that their lord is dead.
Aoth advanced to meet the patchwork swordsman, and, with a limp that might be the result of having mismatched legs, the creature moved to meet him. So did Aoth s former antagonist, the skull lord.
And Cera knew, so surely that it was possible the Keeper or one of his exarches had whispered the information to her, that her lover couldn t contend with both foes at once. Not in such a press, where he couldn t cast his most potent spells without smiting friend as well as foe. She had to help him.
She swept her mace over her head, drew down the Keeper s power, and hurled a shaft of radiance from the head of the weapon. It struck the skull lord like a battering ram and knocked him backward.
Well, she had his attention. In the moment it took him to recover his balance, she rattled off a second prayer. Floating sigils of golden light shimmered into existence all around her.
She was just in time, for an instant later, red light flickered in the orbs of one of his skulls, and then a flare of crimson fire leaped at her. The scorching heat and sickening vileness of it rocked her backward, and for a moment made it feel like there was nothing around her to breathe but filth and embers. Then the flame went out, and she gasped in cleaner air. Frantically taking stock, she found that the attack had only blistered her. The floating runes had shielded her from the worst.
But the fiery blast had provided the skull lord with cover of a sort, and he d used it to rush forward. Indeed, he d nearly closed the distance between them. Terror jolted Cera and froze her in place.
Or rather, it tried. She gasped, Keeper! and warmth poured into her. It didn t purge her of every trace of her fear it probably would have needed to steal her reason to do that but the unnatural, paralyzing dread dropped away.
The skull lord s falchion leaped at her. She blocked with her buckler, and the heavy blade hit so hard that for an instant she feared the stroke had broken her arm. She tried to hit back with her mace, but she was off balance, and the riposte didn t come anywhere near her foe. The skull lord chopped at her again, and it was only Tymora s favor that enabled her to flounder back out of range.
It was plain that, despite all she d learned during her time with Aoth, she was nowhere near up to the task of defeating her ghastly opponent in a contest of arms. As he advanced, she again reached up for the power of the Yellow Sun and rattled off a prayer. She didn t know if she could finish it in time, but her only real hope was to try.
A pair of ghostly warriors, each a blur of amber light, appeared between her and the skull lord. He tried to lunge between them, but they shifted to hold him back and struck at him with their swords.
Sheltering behind them, Cera hurled bursts of Amaunator s power, shafts of sunlight infused with holiness and the deity s righteous hatred of the undead. The third such attack blasted the skull lord into burning scraps of bone.
For an instant, forgetting what she d learned previously, Cera hoped that was the end of the thing. Then the charred fragments of skeleton slid and jumped back together, commencing the task of reassembling him.
No! she thought. Not again! And though the exertions, physical and otherwise, of the last few moments had left her winded and weak, she scrambled forward to smash the one skull that remained intact. Sliding like pieces on a lanceboard, her conjured protectors moved with her.
She thought she had closed the distance in time, because she reached the skull lord when his power was still putting him back together. But the arm with the gauntlet had already reassembled itself, and, via scapula and vertebrae, reconnected to the remaining fleshless head. The Nar tossed his hand and released the servant he d held in reserve.
A thing like a deformed cherub with bruised-looking purple skin burst into view, a necklace of mummified eyeballs swinging from its blubbery neck. It lashed its leathery wings, shot at Cera, and stretched out stubby hands with long black claws. Her glowing bodyguards cut at it and missed. She tried to deflect it with her buckler but failed to lift the armor quickly enough.
The demon slashed at her face as it hurtled by. Pain ripped through her head, and everything went black. She realized the tanar ri might just have torn out her eyes.
For an instant, horror threatened to drown out every other thought. Then something her deity s grace, perhaps, or the knowledge that she was fighting not only for herself but also for Aoth, or pure loathing of the skull lord impelled her to frantic calculation.
Vicious as the little demon was, its master remained the greater threat. If it wasn t already too late, she had to put an end to him before he finished restoring himself. But she couldn t, because she couldn t target him!
But no, that was panic talking. She hadn t really changed her position; she had just reeled back a step. And if he hadn t yet managed to do so, either, she knew where he was. Reaching out to the Keeper and drawing down his power, she swung her mace and hammered and scoured the floor with a searing radiance she could only feel, not see.
Wheezing, with her legs wobbling, all but giving way under the weight of her armor, Cera waited to see if someone or something would strike back at her. Nothing did.
The throbbing pain in her face eased a little, and blinking, she made out a smear of light. She swiped away the blood running down from gashes on her forehead, and she could see more. Obviously, the demon hadn t actually ripped out her eyes after all. It was venom in its talons, or some magical effect, that had extinguished her vision temporarily.
There was nothing left of the skull lord but ash and cinders, and no sign of the demon whatsoever. Either it was fighting elsewhere in the roaring frenzy of the battle, or it had fled the scene when its master died.
In any case, it wasn t flying around Cera anymore, and for that, she was grateful. She had nothing left to fight it with, either physically or magically. Still flanked by her phantom bodyguards, she retreated toward the relative safety of a section of the crypt her comrades controlled, before noticing a surging confusion in one of the doorways.
The glabrezu aimed a pair of its oversized pincers at Jhesrhi. Pulses of purple light lit the black claws from within.
She threw herself to the side. A blast of toxic force pounded the spot she d just vacated, cracking that piece of the floor and flinging bits of stone into the air.
What does it take to kill the thing? she wondered. She d already burned most of the fur off the top of it and charred the flesh underneath. A dozen of Vandar s berserkers had given their lives to help him cut its legs to ribbons. But it still wouldn t fall down.
She lifted her staff in both hands and called to the stone in the ceiling. For centuries, she told it, the demon tormented you and made you sick. Now you can take your revenge. I ll help you.
The ceiling extruded a pair of enormous hands. They clapped shut around the demon s head and squeezed.
The glabrezu thrashed and beat uselessly at the clenching, grinding trap with its claws. I ve got it! Jhesrhi thought. But suddenly the glabrezu vanished and reappeared just to the left of where it had been, which was to say, free of the hands. The fiend smashed the rocky appendages with a sweep of its arm. Still attuned to the stone, Jhesrhi heard it cry out in pain.