Shaveli and nine or ten short-bow-armed guardsmen stood ranked on the stairs above the false Ao priest – well above, for even they feared to approach so monstrous a being. To perfect her misery, Zaranda saw Crackletongue's distinctive blaze sprouting from the Sword-Master's fist. Contact with the magic sword should have inflicted painful injury on a man as devoted to evil as the torturer. Evidently his black leather gauntlets insulated him from harm. He saw her eyes fix on him, stuck out his tongue obscenely far, and wiggled the tip.
"I know," the fiend declared. "I shall make you walk into the lava, one by one. Now, whom shall I do first? Ahh, but of course – the redheaded chit!"
Eyes great, face pale as bleached linen beneath her freckles, Chen turned and took a slow step toward the river of molten stone. "Randi!" she moaned through clenched teeth.
Shield of Innocence took the bloodstained amulet from about his neck and laid it on Stillhawk's unmoving breast. "O Torm," he prayed, "O True and Brave, please listen! Your dog begs you, do not let this soul slip out of the world. No one is truer and braver than he, and we have- "
He coughed up blood. "We have not enough hands to fight the evil that waits below. I know… I have not served you long enough to earn the power to bring him back. And I won't ever, for this day I die, Lord. But please… please give him back his life, for his sake, for those poor brave women down there, for this whole world."
Tears streamed down his cheeks. "Good Torm, I beg you!"
A shimmer in the stinking air before him. A tiny point of radiance, intolerably bright, expanding to a miniature sun. The brilliance dazzled his light-sensitive eyes, threatened to burn them out, yet it filled his soul with warmth and peace such as he had never known.
Shield of Innocence, a voice said in his mind, who well have justified your name: you alone of mortals on this world have I addressed through all the ages, and you alone shall I so address. Torm hears you, and through Him, I hear.
My name has been taken in vain. You have chosen to redress this evil, knowing what the cost would be. So be it: your wish is granted.
The light flared, expanded, enveloped Shield so that it seemed he would be consumed by it, as by the heart of a sun. Then it went out.
The ranger opened his eyes.
"O Torm!" the orog wept. "O Ao All-Father, I thank you!"
Stillhawk shook his head and moaned softly, Shield? he signed.
"I am here. Live now. Your strength is needed."
You are a true paladin, the human signed. In silent song shall I honor your name forever.
Painfully, Stillhawk raised his right hand. The Grog's claw engulfed it, and they gripped each other tight. Zaranda? the ranger signed.
"Below. She needs your strength. You cannot rest yet."
Shield-
The great orc dragged himself to the precipice edge. Below him, dizzyingly far, he saw the fiend standing triumphant upon the landing-and below that, Chen walking step by excruciating step to her own destruction.
He raised himself on his mighty arms, drew his legs beneath him, forced them to lift his bulk off the stone by sheer will. For a moment, he teetered on the verge.
"Ahh!" cried Stillhawk, unable to make his tongue-less mouth form the word no.
Shield of Innocence spread his arms and dived into emptiness.
29
"Hmm," the monster said. "There's something strange about this one, something I can't quite put my finger on. Oh-I forgot." He held up a pincer and clacked it. "No fingers anymore. Foolish me."
Chen raised her foot and held it poised above the yellow-glowing lava. A bubble popped. Liquid rock struck the sole and sputtered there, raising a stink of burning leather.
"Care to test the waters first, my child?" the fiend asked. The girl pointed her toe like a dancer. It descended toward the lava.
"Zaranda," the girl said, "I'm sorry I don't have the strength to fight him-"
"No!" Zaranda screamed.
Like a vast bat, a shadow swooped down from above. The outflung arm of Shield of Innocence struck the back of Armenides's neck.
"Die, monster!" the orog roared as his hurtling mass swept the fiend from his perch. Both plunged into the lava with a splash of white-hot fluid.
The spell of compulsion broke like a glass jar smashed against a rock. Zaranda lunged forward, grabbed the back of Chen's blouse, and yanked her from the brink. As they sprawled on the stone flagging, yellow-glowing gobbets splattered the place where the girl had stood.
Zaranda picked herself up onto her knees. "Oh, Shield," she said. A single tear rolled from her eye.
Zaranda hugged Chen fiercely. The girl lifted her head. Her eyes flew wide. "Randi!"
Zaranda's head snapped round. Shaveli jumped lithely down from several steps up and stalked forward. Chenowyn leapt to bar his path, holding her knife both-handed before her.
The Sword-Master twitched Crackletongue back and forth. The blade hummed with energy. "Get her out of my way," he said. "You know what I can do to her."
"Chen," Zaranda said, "no. This is between him and me. You can't fight him."
The girl stepped back and lowered her arms to her sides. Then she drew herself to her full height and took a deep breath. The air around her wavered, and her eyes began to glow red.
"Chen?"
Shaveli cocked an eyebrow at the redhead. "Interesting. Are you trying to muster some magic against me, wench?" He jerked a thumb up over his shoulder. "Not wise."
The half-score of guardsmen aimed drawn bows at Chen from the steps. "Any spell she casts at me," Shaveli told Zaranda, "will make her spring many leaks. Can't you clear the amateurs from underfoot? I'll give you a fighting chance."
"Chenowyn, please," begged Zaranda, who had never seen the girl's eyes actually glow before. "He's right. Whatever wild talent you can muster now will only get you killed without helping me. Stand back and let me dispose of this filth."
Chen's red hair stood up from her neck. Yellow sparks played through it. Then she slumped, and the fires died from her eyes and the lightning from her hair.
She drew back from between the two.
Shaveli laughed. "Bold words from one who so recently submitted to my caresses."
"Don't flatter yourself, Shaveli. A man who has to let a whip do his fondling for him is less than half a man, no matter how big a blade he swings."
Shaveli snarled and thrust forward in a long, liquid lunge. Zaranda danced aside, whipping out long sword and parrying dagger. Shaveli stamped his boot, cried, "Ha!" and aimed a lightning wrist cut at Zaranda's temple. She barely got her own sword in the way; sparks from Crackletongue's blade showered her, lodged in her hair, and made wisps of stinking smoke.
"A noble blade you carried, Countess," the Sword-Master said. "Too much so for the likes of you."
He flicked the blade at her face. She threw the long sword upward to parry. Crackletongue whipped round and scored a deep gash transverse down her right thigh.
He came on, magic blade weaving a tracery of light before him. With all her skill and speed, Zaranda managed to keep the stolen blade from her vitals, though it pinked her time and again, making her sword arm run with slippery blood, opening a cut in her right cheek. She was handicapped by the knowledge that she dared not allow Crackletongue to take her blade edge-on; fine though the weapon Duke Hembreon had lent her was, its steel could not withstand the magic saber's bite.
He maneuvered her until she stood with her back to the lava river. Then he pressed, stamping and shouting, cutting and thrusting. When she felt heat that threatened to burn through the backs of her trouser legs, he feinted high and then slid forward, thrusting for her belly.