The Elves of Cintra (53 page)

Except for the stone pedestal that appeared suddenly right in front of him and the Loden Elfstone resting upon it.

It wasn’t difficult to know what he was looking at. He had already seen it in the visions shown him by the blue Elfstones. But even beyond that, he would have known. It was so distinctive that it couldn’t have been anything else. It rested in the cradle of a tripod formed entirely of white fire, its facets gleaming. The fire snaked about the Stone in rippling bands, licking at it with flames that shone as bright as bursts of sunlight, their look smooth and unblemished, clear evidence of the magic that generated them.

Kirisin walked forward tentatively, got to within a few feet of the pedestal, and stopped. He had come to take the Loden back with him. But what would happen when he tried to do that? The Gotrin witches had placed the Stone within the dragon to keep it safe. Would the magic that they had created to ward it permit him to interfere? The blue Elfstones had allowed him to find the Loden, but he could not be certain they were meant to give him possession, as well. It might be that something more was required, some other demonstration of his right to claim it.

He had no idea what that something might be.

He stood there for a long time, trying to decide what to do, aware of time slipping away. He watched the white fire twist about the Stone protectively, and he didn’t think it would be a good idea to put his hand in that fire. He didn’t think anyone was meant to do that. He needed to find a way to block the fire, to make it go away long enough for him to snatch up the Stone. He wondered suddenly if the blue Elfstones were the key to this as they had been the key to finding his way here. He took a steadying breath, held the Elfstones out in front of him, toward the pedestal, and envisioned the flames guarding the Loden fading away.

Nothing happened. Not only did the flames not disappear, but the magic of the Elfstones failed to respond to his summons.

Disappointed, he lowered his arm again, thinking it over. Maybe he was approaching this in the wrong way. The blue Stones were seeking-Stones. They were meant to find what was hidden. What if he used them to seek out a way to make the flames disappear? Would the magic respond to him then?

It was worth a try. He stepped back, clearing some space between himself and the pedestal. The light from the chamber surfaces glimmered brightly all around him, a shimmering cushion. He tried to ignore the feeling of displacement it created, the sense that he was disconnected. Instead he fixed his gaze on the flames surrounding the Loden and imagined them vanishing, snuffed out completely so that the Elfstone sat atop the pedestal unprotected.

This time the magic flared to life, a bright blue ball of light about his fist, chasing back the glow of the room. The light brightened, steadied, and then shot forward to a place midway down the pedestal on the side he was facing. In the raw glare of the magic’s light, he caught a glimpse of markings that were little more than faint smudges. As the light faded, he rushed forward, not wanting to chance losing sight of what he had been shown. Shoving the Elfstones into his pocket, he knelt down, his fingers searching the stone surface of the pedestal, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that at any moment he might sink through the room’s strange glow to whatever lay beneath.

He found what he was looking for right away. A small indentation, not large enough for more than the tip of a single finger. Then he found another, and another, until he had located a place for all five fingertips of one hand. Carefully, he filled all the indentations and pressed.

Instantly the bands of fire atop the pedestal disappeared. When he climbed to his feet, the Loden lay on its side, unprotected. Cautiously, he reached out, hesitated, and then scooped up the Elfstone and lifted it clear. No fire appeared to stop him; no magic surfaced to punish his intrusion.

His grin was bright and fierce as he tightened his fingers about the Stone. He couldn’t know for sure, but he reasoned that somehow the magic had identified him through the touch of his fingertips, either as a bearer of the blue Elfstones or as a bearer of the blessing of the shade of Pancea Rolt Gotrin. Either way, he had been recognized and accepted, and the Loden Elfstone was his.

He took a moment to loosen his grip enough that he could study the Stone more closely. It was a perfectly clear gemstone, smooth and exquisitely faceted, all bright mirrors that both reflected and refracted the chamber light. Within its depths, small traces of color swirled and vanished like tiny fish in deep water.

“What is it you can do?” he whispered to the Stone.

Then, tightening his grip anew, he turned back the way he had come, retracing his steps toward the wall of light. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he attempted to walk into it, but he knew his only choice was to try leaving and see what happened.

At least the worst of it was over, he thought.

When he reached the light, he hesitated once more, and then, having no other sensible recourse, reached out and touched it.

Instantly, the light disappeared along with the chamber, the pedestal, and everything else he had seen since leaving the dragon’s maw and descending into its throat. He blinked against the sudden blackness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he found himself standing once more within the dragon’s open jaws, peering out through the double rows of its serrated teeth toward the glow of Simralin’s torch.

In the shadows beyond the maw of the dragon, he saw her move toward him in the gloom.

“There you are!” a familiar voice that clearly wasn’t hers declared. “Come here, boy. Don’t just stand there gaping.”

Kirisin’s mouth was indeed hanging open in disbelief.

“D
EMON
!” Angel Perez called out a second time when there was no response to the first. “Are you afraid of me?”

Still nothing. She waited some more. It didn’t matter how long this took. The longer the better, in fact. She was buying time for the Elves, and the more she could give them, the better their chances of gaining possession of what they had come to find.

She was suddenly uneasy, standing out in the open like this, exposed to everything, and she began moving to her left, changing not only her position but also her view of the rocks. The feeders, which now numbered more than a hundred, moved with her. Already she had summoned the magic to her staff, filling it with white fire, the runes glowing like embers in a working forge. She felt its warmth flood through her, circulating like her blood, the measure of her life. She would not give up that life easily, she told herself. She would not help the ones who had come to kill her by panicking or trying to flee or acting in haste or desperation. She would show them what real strength meant.

The hissing sound came a moment later, slow and taunting, a wicked whisper from within the rocks.

She held her breath, waiting.

Then the wolf thing appeared, a shadow sliding out of other shadows, long and lean and hungry. Its tongue lolled and its teeth gleamed. It was fully ten feet in length, and its sleek body rippled with muscle. Only now it looked less like a wolf and more like a giant cat, its features become decidedly feline, the scaly body having undergone yet another metamorphosis. The change caught her by surprise. But a demon was still a demon, she told herself, whatever shape it took.

She glanced past it into the cluster of boulders. There was no sign of its companion. Was it hiding back there, waiting for its chance to catch her off guard while she was preoccupied with this one? What had become of it?

But almost before her questions were asked she knew the answers. The second demon was farther up the mountain, tracking Kirisin and his sister. It had gotten around behind her, and while this one distracted her it would take care of her unprotected charges.

She felt her heart sink with the realization. Simralin was tough and Kirisin brave, but they were no match for a demon. A rush of urgency flooded through her. She had to end things here quickly if she was to be of any help to her friends.

“
Acude a mi, demonio,
” she taunted the demon, and then hissed at it cat-like. “Here kitty, kitty. Come play with me.”

The demon spit as if scalded, hunching its shoulders. Slowly, deliberately, it slouched toward her. The feeders were leaping all about them, anxious and hungry, anticipating their battle. Angel braced herself in the snow and ice, aware suddenly that she had failed to remove her crampons. The iron teeth were sunk into the snow, pinning her in place. She would not be able to move quickly.

But there was no time to change things now. She would have to do the best she could.

She took a defensive stance as the cat demon stalked her, remembering anew how close it had come to killing her at both of their previous meetings. She had fought it with every ounce of strength and every shred of skill she could muster, and still she would have died both times if not for an intervening fate. She could not count on that here. She did not think she could defeat this creature, did not think she could kill it and not be killed herself. Yet that was what she must find a way to do. She must forget the odds, ignore the past, and change the outcome she was certain awaited her.

Suddenly she noticed something she had both missed and forgotten. The demon had only one eye. Simralin had put out the other with one of her knives when it had attacked them in Ashenell days earlier. A black hole was all that remained. She felt a sudden surge of hope. If it could only see from one side, perhaps she had a better chance than she believed.

And if she could manage to put out the other eye…

“
Madre de Dios,
” she whispered.

The demon came at her in a sudden rush, hurtling across the short distance that separated them, claws digging into the ice, tearing up white tufts that sprayed the hazy air. Angel swung the tip of her black staff into position and sent the Word’s magic hammering into her attacker. The demon was knocked sideways, sprawling across the snow, spinning to a stop.

Without any sign that it was damaged in the least by what she had done to it, the demon came back to its feet and began advancing anew.

Three times it charged Angel, and three times it was sent flying backward. It hadn’t gotten within six feet of her when it rose to come at her a fourth time, but she could see now what was happening. The demon was forcing her to use up her strength on attacks that were meaningless. It was breaking her down a little at a time, draining her so that eventually she would not be able to defend herself. Angel could tell that the strategy was working. The demon was much stronger than she was and could absorb more punishment. Nothing she was doing was having the remotest effect on it; she, on the other hand, was already tiring.

The feeders could sense her weakness and were slowly tightening the circle about her.

She had to do something to turn things around. She thought of Johnny. What would he tell her to do?

Use the tools you have at hand.

The demon came at her again. She reacted, but not quickly enough. The demon was on top of her before she could bring the magic to bear. She caught it on the broad length of her staff as it leapt for her, falling backward as she did so, letting the demon’s weight carry it right over her. The maneuver worked. The demon tumbled away into the snow, legs thrashing. But searing pain lanced down her right side as claws tore through her clothing and into her flesh.

She ignored the pain, coming back to her feet swiftly, turning to face it anew. Feeders were clinging to her, trying to devour her, but she flung them away.

Use the tools you have at hand.

It rushed her again almost instantly, attacking in the same fashion. But this time she was ready for it. Johnny’s words had triggered an idea, and she knew all at once what she must do. She did not try to slow it with her magic; she let it come. Again it hurtled into her, bearing her to the ground, trying to pin her in place so that it could tear her apart. Again she caught it on her staff. But this time she tucked her legs against her body as it knocked her backward, boots pulling free of the ice, the wicked metal teeth of her crampons levering toward the demon’s belly. As it landed on top of her she kicked out, jamming the crampons against the beast’s exposed underside and ripping downward with all the strength she possessed.

The demon screamed. She had never heard a scream like this, a terrible wrenching cry that echoed all across the mountain slopes and the valleys beyond. She felt flesh and muscle give way beneath her boots, saw blood spurt everywhere. The beast clamped its jaws on one arm and her staff as well, but she used the magic to keep those jaws from closing all the way and the teeth from tearing off her arm.

An instant later it broke away, rolling across the snow in a tangle of blood and scales and ragged flesh, feeders clinging to it in black patches.

It should have been either dead or wounded badly enough that it could not continue the fight. Any other creature would have been finished. But not this one. It was already back on its feet and stalking toward her, ignoring the feeders, its underside a mass of blood and torn flesh it barely seemed to notice. Angel felt her courage fail. She braced herself for the rush she knew was coming, summoning what magic she had left to wield.