Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [49]
The monster was humanoid, but its extra set of arms, its stooped-forward posture, and the shoulders—almost deformed with muscle—gave it something of the aspect of a hunting feline. Its mouth was a forest of teeth, and red crystalline spikes burst from its head and upper back like a primordial crown.
Demascus recognized it. It was kin to the demon he’d faced in the shrine. But this one was far more powerful than the dretch he’d dispatched. It looked like it was bred expressly for efficient evisceration.
The beast burst out of the tunnel and pounced, claws extended in a fourfold embrace.
It touched down in the center of the chamber, having covered ten paces in a single leap. Then it was in the air again, moving so fast Demascus could hardly focus on it.
He thrust his sword before him, holding the hilt higher than the point to create a momentary shield. Time seemed to slow from frenetic to merely swift as translucent runes slicked the blade. The eviscerator’s momentum hurtled it onto the transient incline of his sword even as he imparted additional force with a shove.
The demonic thing flipped over him, its roar becoming a confused squeal as its limbs windmilled without finding purchase. It crashed into the far fungus-coated wall. The regular temporal flow reasserted itself as the thing scrabbled to right itself.
Demascus heard boots scraping on the cave floor, then two crossbow bolts struck the beast. One was deflected by the crust of reddish crystal, but the other caught it where an arm emerged from its torso. The eviscerator yowled, but more in fury than pain.
“Demascus!” Chant called, “Watch—”
The demon flung itself right back at Demascus. The arm Chant had hit with his bolt hung limp, but the monster’s speed seemed unimpeded.
Demascus tried the same roof technique, but the creature had learned from its last manic charge and stopped short. One set of claws raked at his stomach, forcing him to drop his sword to guard it. The second set of claws went for his suddenly unprotected eyes.
He threw his free arm over his face. The armor on his forearm caught the claws, but the force of the blow wrenched his arm, sparking a pain so fierce that tears sprang to his eyes. He shuffled back, and his boot heel caught on the soft form of the dead goblin.
He stumbled. How ironic, he thought as he caught his balance. I’m going to die here, just as the most significant relic of my memory returns to me.
He yelled his frustration in the thing’s face. “What do you want? Why are you trying to kill me?”
The creature paused, then croaked, “You have displeased a disciple of the Elder Elemental Eye. Your skin is forfeit.”
What the—? “I don’t know anything about your Elder Eye!” yelled Demascus. “It’s all some kind of mix-up. I just want to know who I am!”
Suddenly Riltana was behind the demonic beast. She plunged a dagger into its side with vicious accuracy, then danced away. Demascus was certain the same attack on him would have put him facedown. The creature barked in pain, but ignored the woman. It focused its gaze on Demascus again and said, “For my service, I get to eat your heart.” The monster obviously wasn’t going to be satisfied until Demascus was dead, and apparently dismembered.
He jumped when something touched his leg.
The scarf had partly unwound from the goblin. One end was poised in the air like a cobra. Words formed along the hovering length of fabric:
Take me up.
The beast hurled itself back across the cavern.
As if from a distance, Demascus saw his hand grab the scarf.
Like a banner in a strong breeze, the coiled end of the wrap unfurled into the air. The free end reached across the space separating Demascus from the charging creature. He thought it would try to wrap around the beast’s neck, but instead it caught the beast around one ankle and pulled. The eviscerator, still advancing, bumbled its footing and sprawled at Demascus’s feet.
Demascus plunged his sword at the thing’s head.
The creature raised one of its arms and took the blade in the palm instead of the temple. Then it leaped