Prince of Lies - James Lowder [137]
Gwydion knew then that these riders weren't just harbingers of death. They wanted his soul, not his life.
With fumbling fingers, the scout tore off his boots and rolled up the breeches from his numb legs. Had he been hit by an arrow or paralyzed by the painless bite of some snake?
There were no wounds on his feet or calves. He rubbed his legs, trying to press some life back into them, but the numbness spread up to his hips.
The Tuigan-monsters were almost upon him. The ground trembled beneath their charge. Gwydion, waves of panic washing over his mind, tried to move his leg, force it to bend. At his touch, the flesh came away from the bones, soft and yielding as clay…
Gwydion's left hand fell away from Titanslayer, and his right began to open. In his mind, at least, the battle was over. If he couldn't run, there was no hope, no way to escape.
The smaller haunts took hold of the knight's legs. Slowly they pulled him toward the hellish pit that was Dendar's stomach. Gwydion barely recognized his plight, engulfed as he was in the familiar terror of his nightmare. He no longer saw himself captive in the Night Serpent's mouth, no longer saw the spectral things that floated around him. Gwydion knew only that the cold hands of annihilation gripped him and he could no longer flee.
Something stirred inside him then, a fiery ember of belief that warmed his cooling resolve. He didn't have to run from the battle – no, shouldn't run from the battle, at least until he'd tried to make a stand. His honor demanded he fight back. The other shades ground beneath Cyric's heel demanded the same. He'd been entrusted with a god's enchanted blade, and he'd given his word to use it well.
As if they could sense the steel of resolve shoring up the knight's flagging spirit, the nightmares redoubled their attack. Joined by Gwydion's personal night-terror, they gave their all in one last desperate attempt to draw him away from his sword. The haunts wrapped themselves around his arms and legs. They blinded him with their wispy hair, throttled him with their bony fingers. Yet even their unearthly might could not force Gwydion to release his hold on Titanslayer.
For a moment Gwydion saw the unreal scene with astounding clarity, true sight far beyond any sensation granted him by Gond's helmet. The shield of his duty would turn aside the worst horrors the phantasms could muster. So long as he kept to his oath, he was beyond their grasp.
Stricken, the nightmares withered before his gaze. They skirled away into the darkness like phantom bats, banished to Dendar's stomach once more.
All except Gwydion's personal night-terror.
That ghastly image lingered, staring at the shade with the features of the dream-Tuigan. The face had been wrought from horribly twisted memories of the barbarian scouts he'd outrun in the crusade, and to Gwydion it was nothing more or less than the face of death itself. The unremembered nightmare had secretly ruled his last eight years of life, driven him from the Purple Dragons, devoured his honor. It had even followed him beyond the grave, becoming a fear of more permanent annihilation. Now, though, the knight recognized the terror for what it was.
"I know you," Gwydion said. "I won't ever run from you again."
The nightmare vanished, and Dendar sank to the ground. "Enough," the Serpent said mournfully. "I've no more weapons to wield against you. I will do as you demand."
The Night Serpent opened her cavernous mouth, and light from the red sky poured in, coloring the grim terrain. Cautiously Gwydion uprooted Titanslayer. He made his way past the Serpent's fangs, over her smooth lips. Of his armor, only his sword belt remained, gnawed thin