—«♦»—
“I wonder why he’s come?” Grander mused, looking down the table to where Kardus sat at the center of a group of rowdy apprentices. It was a great honor to host two Wildmages—and one of them the only Centaur Wildmage anyone had ever heard of, besides!—but he did wonder.
“Perhaps because all of you are going,” Wirance suggested. “I shall be sure to see what I can do for him before we leave tomorrow.”
“I admit he’s a useful fellow. Good to have on your side in a fight, too. Or when you don’t want to fight. I remember a time when—” Kindrius began.
With an unearthly shriek, the Demon landed in the center of the table. The table collapsed beneath its weight, sending cups and platters flying everywhere.
For a moment, there was absolute silence. Some of the Centaurs at the farther tables began slowly to edge away, trying not to be noticed, but the ones closest to the Demon were frozen in terror.
“Mages everywhere,” it purred, staring at Wirance with hot yellow eyes. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
Then it reached out, grabbing the nearest Centaur and yanking her toward it. It bit through her throat in one quick motion. She reeled back, choking and flailing as blood fountained from her ruined throat.
Someone screamed, and suddenly everyone was screaming and shouting. The Demon sprang away, licking its chops, to land on the back of another Centaur, wrenching the Centaur’s head nearly off its shoulders before bounding away again.
“To arms!” Kindrius bellowed to his men.
“Get to your homes!” Grander shouted, equally loudly.
What had been a happy celebration moments before was now a panicked herd of Centaurs that the Demon attacked at will. Though they had worn their armor, the Centaur warriors had not brought their weapons or shields to the feast. Some ran to fetch their arms; other armed themselves with what they could grab from the table and attacked the Demon.
It was useless. The Demon turned on its attackers, its claws shearing through steel armor and leather padding as though it were the lightest linen. It seemed to delight in wounding and crippling rather than killing, and soon the screams of the injured were added to those of the merely terrified.
And when it seemed that matters could get no worse, the Demon added magic to its attacks.
It rose into the air and hovered, wings spread wide. It pointed, and everywhere it pointed, something exploded or burst into flame. Soon most of the houses around the square were in flaming ruins. It pointed at the well, and the housing dissolved in a spray of lethal stone shards. A great jet of water fountained into the sky, then water began flowing slowly over the stones of the village square.
They could not reach it with swords—not that swords had been able to cut its scarlet hide—but the Centaur warriors were armed now with spear and bow, and the archers began to fire from what cover they could find.
None of the missiles found their mark. The Demon batted them all aside, laughing madly as if this were all great fun. Even Kardus’s arrows, which carried charms upon them, did not find their mark.
—«♦»—
WE will all die here, thought Wirance in despair. He crouched inside the doorway of one of the few houses that had so far escaped the Demon’s attention and watched with increasing fury as it slaughtered the Centaurs as easily as a wolf might destroy a nest of field mice.
None of his spells were strong enough to defeat the Demon—he thought he might be able to hold it for a moment or two, if he could Cast successfully, but the Demon had marked him for its most dangerous enemy and broke each of his Castings before it was fully formed.
There must be something! By the First Frost, I must think of something!
—«♦»—
CILARNEN could hear the sounds of the carnage even three streets away. The taste of his terror was sour in his throat. He had never been this frightened in his life. Not in the cell. Not looking at the Outlaw Hunt.
He could get away. He had his Gift back. That would be useful somewhere else. He could get away. Not out the Main Gate—that would be blocked—but there was another gate. Maybe the Demon wouldn’t look for him. Maybe it would think it had already killed him. Maybe the Centaurs would kill it.
Cilarnen got to his feet and started walking slowly toward the Little Gate.
And stopped.
No.
These were his friends. They didn’t care who Cilarnen Volpiril was—they didn’t know a thing about House Volpiril, or the High Mages, or Armethalieh. They didn’t want anything from him. They were just his friends. They had helped him even though they didn’t have to.
Maybe he couldn’t help them now. He didn’t know much about Demons— he hadn’t believed in Demons until a few minutes ago—and even if he did have his Gift, most of his spells were useless without the equipment to do a proper Working. He didn’t even have a wand, for Light’s sake!
But there was one spell he didn’t need a Wand for, and he bet even Demons feared it.
He hoped they did.
He turned toward the Square and began to run.
—«♦»—
HE reached the edge of the square and stopped. He’d never seen—never imagined—a sight like the one which greeted him. Bodies were everywhere. The cobblestones were slick with fresh blood. The houses that bordered the square were in ruins, burning. The well had been smashed, and water was sluicing over the stones, making the footing treacherous.
Cilarnen could see that the Wildmage kept trying to cast some kind of spell—he could actually see the energy—but the Demon kept breaking the spell before it could form. It could not strike the Wildmage, but others weren’t so lucky. Cilarnen saw flesh crisped to ash—and worse. Even while he gaped at the fight in shock and horror, he saw the Demon’s magic strike a young Centaur’s hindquarters, and watched the flesh turn black and fall away from the bone like hot fat.
It should have made him sick. But somehow seeing what the Demon could do didn’t make him more afraid. It made him hard and still inside; more determined—and more angry—than he had ever felt before. He stepped away from the wall he’d been hiding against and out into the Square.
Cilarnen raised his hand, summoning the power of the High Magick.
And the Demon burst into flame.
Burn! Cilarnen commanded, putting all his will into the demand, all his anger, all his fear. When he felt himself falter, he merely had to allow himself to see the dead and the dying scattered about the Square, and his fury welled up in him again. Never mind that a Mage was supposed to conduct all spell-casting in sublime detachment from everything and everyone; this rage gave him power he didn’t even know he had.
He did not stop—a candle could not will itself to extinguish, but the Demon could—but willed Fire again and again—
—until, suddenly, unfamiliar weakness drove him to his knees.
And the Demon, its body charred and blackened, dropped from the sky.
—«♦»—
WIRANCE felt the tingle of unfamiliar magic, and suddenly the Demon burst into flames.
For a moment he thought it was a trick, a trap, but then the Demon roared with pain, flailing wildly in the air as it sought to extinguish the flames that raced over its body.
Wirance glanced toward the edge of the square, following the line of magic stretched across the sky, and saw a slender human youth pointing his hand at the Demon, his whole body rigid with concentration and fury.
I don’t know what you’re doing, boy, but keep it up!
Kardus hurried to Wirance’s side, forcing his way through the press of warriors. In his hands he held a thin length of shining white cord.
“I think—” the Centaur Wildmage began.