Lord Loss (19 page)

I find myself sneering, and without meaning to, I draw myself up straight, glare openly at the demon lord, and snap, “Stick it up your crack, you warped son of a mutant bitch!”

Lord Loss's face drops. Vein and Artery gibber furiously. Dervish laughs.

“You will pay for that insult,” Lord Loss snarls, eyes glowing, blood flowing.

“Only if we lose,” Dervish chuckles. “You can't touch him if we win.”

“Oh, but Dervish, you won't win,” Lord Loss says, his voice reverberating with gloominess. “I wish there was hope — you remind me of Bartholomew Garadex, a most rare human. But you must face facts — this night you die. The boy is weak, unfit for such a challenge.”

“Don't listen to him,” Dervish warns me. “He's trying to make you think you're lost before you start.”

“I know what he's up to — it won't work,” I grunt. But inside I'm not so cocky. There's such sadness in the demon's voice and eyes. Is it true? Are we destined to lose?

“One final chance, Grubitsch,” Lord Loss whispers. “Give yourself to me now and you can avoid the terror and agony. Your death will not be quick, but it will be pleasurable. Your mother, at the end, wished she had accepted my offer. She begged to serve me, but it was too late.”

“I don't believe you,” I say evenly. “Mom would never have begged a piece of scum like you for anything — even her life!”

Lord Loss's eyes narrow. “A second insult,” he murmurs. “You shall not make a third.” He faces Dervish. “I tire of these vain human posturings. I came to play chess. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Who will take to the boards with me?”

“I will.”

Lord Loss lays a hand over his mouth to cover a small smile. “The boy is to fight Vein and Artery? I am astonished. I assumed Grubitsch was a chess maverick who would pit his wits against mine. But to throw him into combat with my savage familiars …”

“Grubbs will be fine,” Dervish says, but his voice doesn't ring with confidence.

“So be it,” Lord Loss sighs. “I would have rather fought a noble contest, but if you are to play into our hands, there is nothing for it but to sweep to a swift victory and make a quick end of you.”

Lord Loss lowers himself off of the web and hovers just in front of Dervish, the jagged strips of flesh at the ends of his legs never touching the ground. Six of his arms fold around his ribs, leaving the upper pair free. Blood drips from his body and sizzles when it hits the stones of the floor.

Dervish steps aside and points to the chess boards. Lord Loss drifts towards them, lips splitting into the closest he can get to a genuinely warm smile. He circles the tables, running his fingers over some of the chess pieces. On the web, Vein and Artery snap and spit, scratching impatiently at the silky strands, hungry for battle and blood.

“I hope you prove more worthy an opponent than your brother, Dervish,” Lord Loss says spitefully. “He was on the back foot from the fourth move. It was quite embarrassing, the ease with which he succumbed. I think, deep down, he secretly wished to lose — just as Grubitsch does.”

“Shut up!” I yell, taking an angry step towards him, hands clenched into fists.

“Easy, Grubbs,” Dervish mutters. “He's trying to goad you. Ignore his crap. Clear your mind. Focus on the fight.”

“Wise advice,” Lord Loss nods. “But Grubitsch is unable to heed it. He is full of fire and fury — like his mother. Her failures proved to be your father's downfall. He might have fared better had he not been so worried about her, just as Dervish is worried about you. What will you say to your uncle when you fail him, Grubitsch? How will you apologize for —”

“If this continues,” Dervish interrupts softly, “the game's off.” Lord Loss stares at him archly. “I'm not bluffing. Let it be a fair contest, me against you, Grubbs against your slaves, or there'll be no contest at all.”

“You would sacrifice the wretched Billy Spleen so cheaply?” Lord Loss smirks.

“If I have to,” Dervish says, and his face is stone.

Lord Loss studies my uncle in troubled silence, then shrugs and sits on the side of the chess boards behind the black pieces. “Very well. We shall dispense with the pleasantries. Take your place, Dervish Grady, and face your finish.”

Dervish walks across to me. Grips my shoulders. Stares hard into my eyes. “You know what you have to do,” he says. “Fight hard and dirty — to the death.”

“Piece of cake,” I grin weakly. “Good luck.”

“We make our own luck tonight,” he says in reply. He releases me and marches to the chess boards. Sits, takes a breath, then without any formalities reaches forward, grips a pawn on the middle board, and moves it forward.

Immediately, Vein and Artery leap from the web and zone in on me, screeching, snarling, the stench of death thick in the air about them.

No time to check Lord Loss's response to Dervish's opening move. I toss myself wildly to the left. Vein shoots overhead, crocodile jaws snapping together on thin air, human fingers wriggling.

Artery lands on my back. His left hand grabs my neck. Teeth bite into my flesh. I howl and roll over, seeking to squash the hell-child. He leaps free before I complete the move, chuckling darkly.

In the cage, Bill-E roars and shakes the bars, sensing the threat of the demons even in his beastlike form.

Vein attacks again, bounding across the floor. My right hand snakes out. Fingers open. An axe jumps into my palm from the pile of weapons several meters away. I sit up and throw. It arcs towards Vein. Bounces hard off her snout. Only a scratch, but the wound makes her pause.

I rise without using the muscles in my legs. Look down — I'm hovering in the air! Close my mind to the impossibility of the situation. Extend both hands. An axe flies into my left, a short sword into my right. I look for the demons. They're huddled side by side, glaring at me.

“Come and get it, creeps!” I grunt, twirling the axe like a baton.

“A clever maneuver,” Lord Loss notes, clapping drily. “Did you teach him that one, Dervish?”

“Never mind the commentary,” Dervish growls. “It's your move.”

My eyes dart to the boards. Incredibly, dozens of moves have been made in the few seconds since the game began. Play is at an advanced stage on all five sets.

Artery attacks while I'm distracted. Faster than my eye can follow, he crosses the room, jumps, and drags down hard on my legs. I kick at him, but he scrabbles up above my knees. The teeth in his hands sink into both my thighs. I scream. Artery laughs. Vein yaps excitedly. Bill-E butts the bars of his cage with his head and tries to bite through them.

I collapse to the floor. Artery's shaken loose by the jolt. I kick him backwards. He barrels into a pile of charred books, scattering them, squealing viciously.

Vein's on me before I can get up. Her teeth clamp around my outstretched left leg. She bites through my shinbone. Rips her head left and right. Flesh and bone tear. My foot and ankle fly across the room. Blood pumps from the lower part of my left leg — agony!

Vein and Artery scramble to the wound. Immerse their faces in the spray of blood. Gulp it down. Push each other out of the way, hungry for the taste of me.

Shaking — going into shock — eyes rolling — room spinning — numb to the pain — watching the demons feed — defeated — dying.

“Use your magic!” Dervish screams. My eyes half-focus. He's standing, face ashen. “Magic!” he bellows again, as Lord Loss grins and takes one of Dervish's queens with a bishop.

Staring at the demons — their faces red with my blood — imagining their next attack — the torment — spurred into action.

I'm still holding the axe. Summoning all my strength, I lash out with it and bury it dead in the middle of Vein's hard, elongated head. The demon falls away, choking. Her strength deserts her. She falls in a heap. I've killed her!

I almost shout aloud with glee, until I spot Artery climbing on top of Vein. He pulls the axe out and pushes the edges of the wound together. Blood glows. The wound knots itself closed. Vein gets to her feet, shaken, but very much alive.

My heart sinks — then leaps. Dervish's cry makes sense now. If the demons can use magic to repair their wounds, so can I! While Vein's still recovering, I point at my severed foot on the other side of the room and will it back into place. For a second nothing happens. Then it vanishes and reappears at the end of my leg. Flesh, bone, and sinews meld. The pain is worse than when it was bitten off. But it works! Within seconds I have my foot back, and though it's sore as hell, it will serve.

I don't test my weight on the foot. Instead, I calmly spread my arms and imagine myself airborne. With slow grace, I rise. Tucking both legs up behind me, I face the demons, then stab at them with my sword.

Artery bats my sword away. Vein jumps into the air and snaps for my legs, but I'm too high. I laugh at the demons, then slash at them again. They scatter, Vein to my left, Artery to my right.

Bloodlust. Sensing victory. I chase after Artery. Hack at him with the sword — miss by bare inches. Hack again — closer. He races from me, wailing, tiny limbs waving in an almost comical manner. Throws himself to the floor in desperation. I have him! Hurling myself forward, I take careful aim with my sword, bring it screaming down, and …

… hit the strands of web at the boundary of the cellar!

Sharp resistance, like hitting a steel bar. Bones crack. Sword drops. But worse — I
stick!
The strands of web are coated with a gluey substance. It clings to my arms, body, legs. I'm a fly stuck to flypaper. Struggling. Trapped. Helpless.

Artery and Vein gather below me. Their faces split into evil leers. The teeth in Artery's hands gnash dreadfully. Vein's eyes appear beadier than ever. She grips the web with her human hands. Crawls towards me. Artery not far behind.

Thrashing — tearing at the web — trying to bite through the strand nearest my face. I call upon my magical abilities — wish myself off of the web — it doesn't work! Blind panic — the demons closing in — here comes the kill!

A CHANGE OF PLAN

V
EIN
creeps closer. Artery slithers next to his demonic sister. Both growling softly. My cries die away to a terrified whimper. Watching, sickly fascinated, accepting my doom.

“No!” Dervish roars, and he's suddenly floating above the demons. Grabs each by the scruff of the neck and hurls them across the width of the cellar, where they crash into webs on the opposite side. He reaches down, grabs my arms, and rips me free of the sticky strands. Presses his fingers into my back where the bones broke. A warm surge of power — the bones knit together.

“This is unpardonable, Dervish,” Lord Loss mutters from his place at the chess boards. “To abandon our game while it's in progress …” He tuts disapprovingly. “You have broken the rules of our agreement. I am now free to summon as many of my familiars as I wish and set them loose upon you and the boys.”

“Wait!” Dervish roars as Lord Loss rises. “I'll return to the game!”

“Too late,” Lord Loss sighs. “Besides, what would be the point? Grubitsch is out of his depth. Let us put an end to this sham. You have disappointed me, Dervish, but there will be other Gradys and other matches.” Lord Loss extends five of his eight arms, picks up Dervish's kings from each board, and starts to crush them.

“What if Grubbs plays you?” Dervish shouts.

Lord Loss pauses. “That was not our deal.”

“We'll make a new deal,” Dervish hisses. “The game continues where I left off. Grubbs assumes my position. I pit myself against your beasts.”

“Why should I agree to that?” Lord Loss asks. “I have already won.”

“No,” Dervish disagrees. “
We
may have forfeited the game — but
you
haven't won. You can take our lives now, quickly, or you can prolong the agony and savor Grubb's desperation and sorrow as he loses to you.”

Lord Loss's eyes light up at the mention of desperation and sorrow, but he hesitates before replying. “What if he doesn't lose?” he finally murmurs. “I will have sacrificed the pleasures of a certain victory for the humiliation of defeat.”

“It's a gamble,” Dervish agrees, “but Grubbs is a poor player. Our chances are slim. Imagine the satisfaction you'll extract as Grubbs slowly and painfully comes to realize he can't win.”

“You make it sound almost irresistible.” Lord Loss smiles thinly. “But what does the boy think?”

Dervish looks questioningly at me. I shake my head uncertainly. “I just want it over with,” I sob. “We're going to lose anyway — why drag it out?”

“As long as there's life, there's hope,” Dervish replies quietly. “And it's not just yourself you'd be playing for — it's me and Billy too. Will you throw away our lives without a fight?”

I stare at my uncle's cold expression, then at the howling Bill-E in his cage. Wearily, I nod. “I'll try,” I mumble. “If Lord Loss agrees to it, so will I.”

Dervish's head whips round and he glares at Lord Loss. “Well?” he barks. “Can you match this child's courage, or will you flee with the easy victory?”

Lord Loss rolls the kings around in the stubby layers of flesh at the ends of his arms, considering the proposal. Then, with a smile, he replaces them on the boards. “Come,” he says, gesturing to the seat which Dervish vacated.

Gliding to the floor. Dervish sets me down. Pain flares in my left foot. I ignore it. Hobble forward. Gaze at the five boards, the ranks of white and black pieces, then into the demon master's cunning eyes.

Breathing raggedly. Clearing my thoughts. Trying to remember every lesson Dad and Mom ever taught me.

I sit.

Instant peacefulness. An unnatural silence. I stare around the cellar, startled. Everything seems to have stopped. Dervish stands motionless, facing the demons, while Bill-E's frozen at the bars of his cage. Then I realize they
are
moving — only incredibly slowly.

“What happened?” I gasp.

“I have separated our time frame from theirs,” Lord Loss says. “It allows us to play without distractions.”

I watch as Dervish's right hand slowly comes up, fingers unfurling, red flames streaking from the tips. Slower than snails, Vein and Artery break to the sides, out of the path of the firebolts.