"Courflamme thanks you for the refreshment," Gord said with a chuckle as he came, now almost within sword's point of the surprised Infestix.
Something warned the daemon not to try his attack any further. Instead, Infestix brought the Theorpart up to a defensive position over his maggoty head. There was a tinkling screech, and the glowing diamond-length of the crystalline portion of his adversary's strange sword went flying off as a quarrel skitters away after striking granite.
"Aha! Now half of your brand's potency is shattered, would-be champion," Infestix gloated. "Half a sword, half a man. That is but a half-fart's duration in a wind. Now let us see the defense against this!" As he shouted that to Gord, the daemon used Initiator to bring down a roaring column of pure energy upon the place his foe stood. Fractured, showing a crazing throughout its length, the diamond-bright blade still interposed itself between the stuff of consuming force. As its ebon twin had done, so too the crystal sword negated the energy — and at the same time that it absorbed the eye-searing brightness of the blast, the brand's damage was wiped away.
But not all of the energy could be stopped. Gord was bathed in a small part of the force. His being was assaulted, atoms assailed and nearly sundered. It took all of the distillation of powers granted to him to save himself from being blown to nothingness in an explosion that would have devastated iyondagur for a league around. Gord managed, but the drain was enough to bring him to his knees, eyes and ears trickling blood, nose streaming the crimson stuff.
Seeing his adversary in such a condition, Infestix leaped forward to slay Gord personally. The two halves of Courflamme saved him from simple slaughter at that moment Dark and bright blades leaped out, posing twin threats to the daemon, and the fiend Jumped back as quickly as he had sprung, defending himself with the Theorpart. Neither the jet nor the diamond portions of the sword would come near to Initiator, so the defense was effective.
"It is but a matter of time," hissed the daemon master in his moldery voice.
"But not as you assume," Gord countered. He used his last remaining force to restore his body, stand erect and ready himself to fight.
Infestix caused the Theorpart to metamorphose in his hand. It changed from a twisted thing of no particular purpose into a weird sort of pole arm. There was a haft with thin, axelike blades radiating from its head, and lower, leaflike tines with solid spurs at their base. As a spetum or ranseur, the daemon's weapon could catch and snap a sword blade in these latter projections. At its terminus was a foot-long spike. The thing was an axe-mace on the end of a short pike, with holding and disarming capability included. It would be very effective, too, if used at the right distance by a very strong wielder against an incautious opponent.
"No?" Infestix mocked. "Let us see how you manage play with me now, manling! You fight the master now, not the petty servant as you did when you bested Gravestone."
The daemon thrust the weapon at Gord, spun its length with his long arms, then slashed in a horizontal arc. Gord weaved away from the stabbing attack, then had to dance backward as quickly as he could from the long sweep of the glittering edges of the thing. The touch of its pointed end sent showers of fiery sparks flying from the shadow armor that protected his chest, and that brief kiss knocked the young champion off his feet.
It was lucky for Gord that the Theorpart-weapon was an unwieldy instrument. Had it been shorter, Infestix might have been able to deal the coup de grace then and there. By the time the daemon could bring the head of the weapon around and up to strike, though, his adversary had recovered enough to roll aside when the weighty axe blades came down. Infestix levered the thing up and into position immediately, but that allowed Gord time to clamber back into a crouch, and now he held the rejoined Courflamme before him. "Good, but not great, corpselover," he taunted.
What had Just transpired had given the daemon confidence, and Infestix readied his next attack with a leering look of anticipatory delight on his cadaverous visage. He had been unsure of exactly what would happen when he willed Initiator into a weapon. But the Theorpart had responded instantly, and the instrument he now grasped at the ready was a strange and devastating thing of death. As he moved it, became more accustomed to it, Infestix found it light, responsive, almost alive. This time he would be quicker, more exact, and the heart of the human opposing him would be his to devour.
It was all Leda could manage to keep the Eye of Deception functioning. The press of vile daemons around her and her comrades was growing greater as the creatures rushed to the defense of their master. As fast as she could cut them down with the Eye, more were taking the places of the slain. Because of this, she was unable to assist Gord; she couldn't even see or sense what was happening to him. In truth,
Leda could not have helped even had she been aware of his dire predicament One moment of distraction and the little dark elven priestess would have been buried under a wave of attacking fiends.
Much the same was happening to the right, where Gellor stood fast. The troubador had laid low a thousand of those monsters subject to the magic of the kanteel. Now all those still able to press toward him were of the sort immune to the harp's dweomers. With the gifts of the Catlord adorning his hands and feet, Gellor placed the kanteel safely in its case, then drew his own longsword. Wielding his blade and wearing the claws of a tiger, the one-eyed bard tore into the score of netherbeings still advancing. Locked in his own awful melee, he too was unaware of Gord's condition.
The flanged head of the pole arm came flashing down toward Gord's head. Gord thought to use Courflamme to deflect the blow, but instead the sword literally dragged him aside. The blades of the weapon tore lightly at his armor, but this time there was no shock nor was there any pain or damage from the glancing blow. The tip of it was deadly, probably the blades as well, and the weight of its mace head was probably enough to either pierce or break his shadow armor.
All that was bad enough — but worse, Courflamme could not be made to engage the weapon. Could the single Theorpart be so much greater than the greatest token of Balance? That seemed impossible. So, perhaps instead of striking at the blade-end, he should try something else. . . . Gord moved lightly, rapidly, circling to cause his foe to have to turn his body to keep the clumsy pole arm moving and spinning.
"I have patience," Infestix laughed, his voice a horrid hooting. "The wait will make your end all the sweeter." Indeed, time was favoring the daemon. Soon the thousands of his soldiers around them would break through and fall upon Gord and his companions. If Initiator didn't kill them before then, the sheer weight of hundreds of enraged demons and netherbeings would.
Suddenly Gord felt a warm tingling as if the sword were sending energy to him, and at that instant he closed with a rush. The pole arm that was Initiator shot out, Infestix meaning to use it either to skewer the foolish little human or to hold him at bay with its projections. Losing no momentum, Gord darted to one side and dashed in toward the daemon, past the end of the weapon. Infestix tried frantically to pull the long weapon back in.
Trying to shorten a hold on a shaft ten feet long, even for a being as tall and strong as Infestix, is slow work compared to the charge of a swordsman. Gord's right arm moved out, Courflamme's point darted from right to left, downward. Glittering sparks coruscated from contact of Theorpart and sword. There followed a piercing scream, a sound that could only be likened to ancient metal being torn apart within the confines of some sepuichral cavern.
Initiator fell to the demon sward of iyondagur, changed in the blink of an eye into its true form.
Beside the misshapen piece of alien stuff writhed the severed fingers of the right hand of Infestix.
It took Gord a moment to comprehend what had happened. By then it was too late. He finally understood and galvanized his actions into a further attack but the master of daemonkind was gone. Howling in pain and fury, Infestix had fled back to his own stronghold in the pits of Hades. The Theorpart remained where it lay. With a quick shrug of regret, the young champion stooped and picked the thing up with his left hand, still grasping Courflamme firmly in his right. He took another moment to touch the wormy digits with the sword's tip. The frantically moving things popped as would fat slugs in a fire as the point pierced them, one by one.
"Now, then," Gord said with a satisfied grunt after the last was destroyed. "I think it is time to see about the refuse the daemon-fop has left behind."
He took a look to the left and then the right, saw the nearness of disaster, and acted. Springing first to where Leda was, Gord fell upon the most threatening enemy first, cleaving the hulking plagadaemon from crown to crotch with a single blow from Courflamme. The thud of the monster hitting the ground made Leda turn in alarm. "It's all right, girl," Gord managed to blurt, spearing a second plagante on his sword with a long thrust immediately thereafter. "Just guard my back and I'll deal with the rest now."
With near shock, Leda noted that Gord held the Theorpart that had been Infestix's in his left hand as he plied the sword against the last nearby foe. The others of Infestix's horde had stopped short their rush, and the monsters were now milling uncertainly, seeking direction. "Thanks, my love," she panted during the respite. "I can manage a bit more, though. Should I hit them with another blast from the Eye?"
"Save your strength," Gord told her. "They will realize soon enough that they have no more master and relic to protect them. Then there will be rough work and slaughter, for the Abat-dolor will fall on them, and there will be a stampede. We must not get caught in that! Come now, let's aid Gellor."
Running close by his side, Leda accompanied Gord to where the troubador was fighting some halfhundred paces distant, nearly out of sight behind a windrow of dead daemons and maelvis whose hacked and ruined bodies showed evidence of weapon-work Although exhausted, she managed to summon enough vitality from somewhere inside her to command the Eye a last time. From the sphere came things of opaline hue, bouncing ovoids that arced and rebounded as they landed in scores among the lines of enemies coming toward them. Each teardrop of the stuff left a strand behind as it bounced, and whenever one of those strands contacted a daemon it splattered into a mesh of viscous, gluey lines.
After several impacts, each bouncing spheroid slowed and formed a puddle upon striking down for the final time. The substance of each ovoid must have been much compressed, for each puddle formed by one was a yard or more in diameter. The stuff was also deadly. Whether leathery, horn, scaled or spiked, the substance seemed to cut into the flesh of the demons and daemons as if each puddle encountered was made of molten lava. "Gods!" Leda uttered in a near whisper. "What is this thing — and me — capable of?"
"Sufficient to stop the foe dead in their tracks," Gellor said drily but with appreciation. "Much longer, and the three of us would have been but two."
Gord shook his head. "Put the Eye away now, please," he told the dark elf, with a squeeze of thanks to her arm. "You have done more than your share, and to attempt more work will try you beyond knowing. I fear. The Eye now grows stronger by drawing on the Theorpart, Courflamme's energy too. That I like not at all. Something seems to meddle with all here . . . . but what?"
"Where is the master of daemons?" Gellor asked, peering around at the disorganized masses of daemons now skulking at some distance from the three.
"Back in his pit, minus his rotted right hand," Gord replied with a grim smile of satisfaction.. "We can vaunt over the fallen enemy later. Let's get ourselves back into the lines of the Abat-dolor there, and give Elazalag the good news — and the Eye of Deception."
"You shan't! Not really? That was just a ruse, wasn't it?"
"No, Leda. I spoke forthrightly and with truth. These demonfolk have carried out their portion of the bargain, and now we shall deliver ours."
"What if they are planning treachery?" the drow priestess said angrily. "What of your fine honesty then?"
"In that event, my dear Leda, we will serve up to them the same dish that Infestix and his horde Just found so unpalatable. We three can devastate the greatest of the Abat-dolor in a twinkling, then use the power of Theorpart, sword, and Eye too, for that matter, to be elsewhere."
They were almost to the place where the ebonhued demon army stood in wonder, trying to decide just what to do now that their more numerous foes had suddenly left off fighting and pulled back to stand in confusion opposite the Abat-dolor. Of course there were those shouting for a charge, but Elazalag and her nobles were keeping the masses of warriors in control awaiting the approaching humans.
"These ones will try no trickery, I trow," Gellor ventured. "I detect more than a little awe radiating from the princess, there, and Herald Nisroch too."
It was so. "You bested the greatest of daemons!" Elazalag uttered with amazement. "I saw mighty Infestix yowl off to his own realm as does a cur when it loses its tail to the jaws of another dog."
"He will eventually regrow it — his fingers, I mean. I took them, and his relic too, in the contest," Gord asserted.
This one would be a mighty champion of the Abyss, my Princess," Nisroch said, meaning it to be sotto voce, but booming it regardless because of his massive lungs and resonant voice. "With that one as your consort, my Princess, the Abat-dolor would control all demonlum before — "
"Enough!" commanded the tall demoness, but immediately after silencing her herald Elazalag cast a sidelong and speculative glance in Gord's direction. Tell me. Champion, have you ever considered — "
"He has not, nor will he ever!" Leda interrupted with a firm, cold voice. Grabbing Gord's arm possessively as she spoke, the little dark elf then gazed unflinchingly at the feral eyes of Princess Elazalag. Without turning, Leda addressed the young man. "Give her the Eye of Deception, Gord. Then I think it Is high time for us to be on our way from here."
The anticlimactic tension of this tableau was too much for Gord to bear. He laughed a full, clean laugh, the mirth rolling from his stomach up through his chest and spilling out from his mouth in staccato bursts. At the same time, though, he placed his right arm around the mailed shoulders of the beautiful drow who clung to him possessively and hugged her closer. "You, lady of mine, are most certainly correct. There is still much to accomplish and but scant time to do it in. May I have the artifact, please?"
Leda passed the container that held it into his hand, and Gord released his arm from its hold around her. Formally, with a slight bow, Gord proffered the sigil-strewn bag with the Eye of Deception within to the tall, six-fingered demoness who was sovereign ruler of the nine clans of Abat-dolor on iyondagur.
"Princess Elazalag, I present to you the gift which was promised in our bargain. The Eye of Deception is of the Abyss and has been held by the Abat-dolor for centuries, I am told. The artifact was only beyond the ken of demonkind for a brief time, but I offer my apologies for even so brief a hiatus. Please take it and use it as you will on behalf of the Abat-dolor, for that is as it should be."
It didn't seem incongruous to Gord to speak thus. The demoness and her kin were very much like humans. Yes, their repute placed them as some of the most vicious of all demons, but that was in keeping with their near-humanity. Evil they were, undoubtedly so, but not always — and, when pressed, what race of mankind was not also vicious and homicidal?
The demoness reached out and took the thing from him, acting with a little more haste than was called for, but such anxiety was understandable too. Elazalag was thinking of how this would redress the balance between iyondagur and Mezzafgraduun, between herself and the demonking Graz'zt. "With this I shall reunite all of the Abat-dolor," she said loudly, so that all the demons in earshot might hear and exult. "I shall extend our lands and bring woe to all those enemies who harassed and belittled the Abat-dolor when we were weak!"