Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [94]
Murmur reared back, then tossed Demascus into the pit.
Or tried to. The power of Demascus’s avowal bound the demon’s grip.
Demascus’s weight pulled Murmur forward, and it stumbled a step closer to the edge of the bug-swarmed cavity.
A crazed scream rang out, “For the Lady!” It was the spittle-flecked captive, running free with one manacle dragging behind him. The madman threw himself at the demon, and struck it from behind with the unrestrained strength of a psychopath.
Already overbalanced, Murmur tottered into the pit.
Sounds took on a base quality as they stretched out, and the light dimmed. Everything moved slowly but Demascus, who flicked the Veil of Wrath and Knowledge up. The Veil’s far end caught a bar of his cage and wrapped three times.
The improvised line nearly jerked out of his hand when it snapped tight. But that was only a prelude to Murmur’s full weight, which threatened to rip his shoulder from its socket.
He screamed, dangling by one hand, his arm a torment of molten agony. He kicked at Murmur, and slashed at the tendrils still gripping him halfheartedly. But his arm holding them over the swarm hurt so bad he could barely think. It was all he could do to not let go.
“Help!” Demascus called. His voice came out a croak. “Chant! Riltana!”
The pawnbroker appeared at the edge of the hole, eyes wide. He leveled his hand crossbow and pulled the trigger.
One bolt went wide. Two buried themselves in Murmur’s arm, just above its elbow. The monster convulsed, lost its grip on Demascus, and tumbled into the pit.
The demon wailed, its voice a howl of such animal supplication and suffering that Demascus just about bobbled his grip.
He allowed his sword to fall, and reached up until he gripped his scarf with both hands. Then he craned his head down to witness the struggle beneath his feet.
Murmur was at the pit’s nadir, flailing with demonic energy. Each time one of its arms came down, it squashed hundreds of bugs. Each time it shook itself like a hound, hundreds of churning legs and mandibles lost their grip. However, the host of tiny insects seemed numberless. In the end, all the demon’s frenzied efforts were hopeless. Demascus’s last sight of the demon’s violet hide was when Murmur bellowed, “Servitor! Kalkan! Why do you just stand there? Help me before—!” A tide of voracious beetles covered the demon and poured into its open mouth.
Demascus looked away, nauseated.
And saw Jett standing near the exit holding a smokeless torch. The genasi was smirking at him.
What in the name of all the dominions? Jett’s lord had just perished, but the servitor looked as smug as someone who’d gotten in the last word of a monumental argument. Jett caught Demascus’s eye, then flipped a hood over his head, casting his features in shadow.
“Hold on,” yelled Riltana.
He glanced up to see the thief was in the cage where the Veil was secured, then back to Jett. The genasi was gone.
“Hey!” Riltana said, louder. “Pay attention! I’m going to pull you out of there!” She grabbed the length of fabric and started hauling him up. She was stronger than she looked.
I’m going to live, Demascus thought wonderingly, as he cleared the edge of the pit. If his pain-swaddled fingers could just stay clenched around the scarf another few heartbeats.
A babble of voices echoed through the cavern.
Genasi wearing the sign of the Elder Elemental Eye hurtled into the chamber, waving swords and aiming crossbows. A fleeing captive took one crossbow bolt in the leg and went down. Another bolt clattered on the bars of Riltana’s aviary.
“Son of a piss-pickled leech!” cursed Riltana. “Cover me!” The windsoul continued hauling on the Veil, her face pinched.
The pawnbroker, who’d been standing anxiously watching Demascus’s ascent, dived for cover. Carmenere, closer