Artifact of Evil

Chapter 13

"There is the Veng at last!" exclaimed Biff.

"And the Boulderford, which leads to Molag," added Lizard.

"We are ahead of those we seek, for nobody has come this way for days," Chert said as he studied the track.

"What twinkles so there, across the river?” asked Melf as he peered at the bluffs on the far side of the waterway that marked the beginning of the Horned Society, the lands of the dreaded Hierarchs and their unwholesome subjects. "Quick! Our horses to the hollow there," he commanded, pointing to a small dell to the left. "Stay with them while I scout ahead."

The others made no comment or objection, for they knew that the elven swordsman was also a spell-worker of considerable power. Melf had demonstrated his ability to become invisible and travel through the air like an arrow, and this is what he would certainly do now. The glittering on the far bank of the Veng was a body of troops, and an unseen, flying scout was a safe and sure way to determine who these soldiers were. Melf disappeared from view, moving toward the river. Chert, Biff, and Lizard waited patiently, soothing the eight horses to make sure the animals made no betraying sounds.

In only a few minutes Melf was back. "Be lively now!" he cried to his comrades. "Get the horses into that stand of scrub as quickly as you can, and hide yourselves too!"

"Does the enemy approach?" queried Lizard as he pulled a trio of mounts toward the thicket of box elders and tall shrubs.

"Nay, but they have an advance of great ravens which will most certainly overfly this very place soon, and I want no trace of us seen by such creatures," replied Melf as he urged his horses into the concealing foliage.

Biff appeared beside them suddenly, making the horses jerk back in fright. "Who sends such spies as carrion crows, Lord Melf?"

"Blast you and your creeping around in the bushes!" the elf replied hotly as he fought to quiet his courser. "Cease such foolery henceforth!"

"No creeping is needed," Biff said indignantly. "As halfling and thief, I move as naturally in such stuff as this as that giant yokel strides over hills and dingles." He grinned at Chert as he spoke this last, causing the barbarian to glower back with a look that promised terrible retribution if he ever grasped the small demi-human in his huge hands.

"The small one's query is apt," Lizard interjected laconically. "At whose behest come the ravens?"

Melf agreed, and as the four hid themselves amid the greenery, he related what he had seen.

"After becoming invisible," he began, "I winged upward to gain a bird's-eye view of the terrain on the northern verge of the valley. Flying across the Veng, then, I noted a large force of soldiers. Their advance is a body of the most benighted humans I have seen in many years — mercenary brigands, unless I miss my mark. Behind comes a battalion of hobgoblins led by a grim-garbed and horn-helmed rider attended by several underclerics. The chief is certainly one of the Hierarchs.

"This great troop was in the process of encamping, and as their scouts returned to the camp, a large flock of ravens, huge ones too, was loosed. I knew full well that my presence would be detected by the leader if I came closer, and when the birds were sent forth it was time for me to take my leave, for those malign croakers of evil might well sense my whereabouts also."

"Are we safe here?" asked Biff uneasily. "Probably, for the light evens toward dusk as we speak," the elf replied. "Still, as soon as possible we will return along our route a mile or two. Such distance will give us the security we need. It seems that the force is placed so as to await the arrival of someone, but perhaps they intend to cross the river and invade. We will keep sharp lookout tonight."

Chert was dissatisfied. "What of the caravan of bandits we lie in wait for? This regiment of troops surely spoils our plans."

"As long as they remain on the far side of the Veng, I intend to go ahead with the ambush," Melf said with determination. "We will hit these reavers, slay them, and gain our prize before the Hierarch and his foul servitors can react."

"What then?" Lizard asked slowly.

"We ride as if pursued by night fiends!" was the elfs answer.

Chuckling at this candor, all four settled down to await full darkness. When the sky showed an array of twinkling stars, they led their steeds back toward the south, avoiding the trail. After camping in a sheltered ravine, they determined sentry duty and settled down for an uneasy sleep. In the morning Biff related an encounter with a giant owl who spoke to him of the force on the opposite shore. The owl had come because of the ravens, and it was moving as far from the area as it could because of these ebon-feathered marauders. The owl stated that it thought the encampment looked permanent, because the hobgoblins had been cleaning out the limestone caves along the bluff during hours of darkness.

"That confirms my thinking," Melf told the others. "So we set our trap as planned."

The track leading to Boulderford ran across the relatively open prairie, wound through the low hills, and then dropped into the Veng River valley where the forces of nature had created a natural ramp along the steep bluffs that marked the basin of the watercourse. Some three miles from these bluffs, at a place where the worn trail bent sharply right, they placed themselves in wait. On the left of the road, near the turn, Melf readied his magic as the huge barbarian honed his enchanted battle-axe, Brool. The barbarian hummed softly to the weapon, feeling most comfortable in the rocky little hummocks where they concealed themselves. Across the way Biff and Lizard waited. The halfling had his sling ready, and beside him rested a dozen leaden bullets, each missile engraved with strange runes and carrying a special dweomer of deadly sort. He and Lizard had arranged a contest between themselves, for the crossbowman likewise had stubby quarrels painted with mystic sigils and enchanted to fell purposes. The one who slew fewer of the enemy with his missiles must give over to the other a tithe of his battlefield loot.

"What if the dust that cloud-bumping clod detected marks some procession other than that we seek?" Biff asked.

"Unless our leader says otherwise, we strike," Lizard said as he rearranged his bolts once again. "No weal comes from any who would have intercourse with the Hierarchs in any case, so we will discommode no one of good by such action. Do you think Melf will allow these folk to pass unmolested if they appear to be ordinary riffraff come to trade with the Horned scum?"

"Most probably," the halfling mused. "He is bent only on laying low the raiders who pillaged Celene and then crossed the Kron Hills on their trek northward. We pursued them long ere we encountered you and Chert, you know, and that band is my master's only target. He will withhold his spells if the caravan is not the enemy he seeks."

Lizard shook his head sadly. "Too bad. Whoever comes is sure to be laden with valuables."

Laughing softly at the mercenary's regretful response, Biff too began realigning and readying his bullets and weapons. An hour later the first outriders of the approaching caravan came into view. There were about a dozen men, lightly armored, riding swift steeds. They approached in an open formation, fanned out so as to observe all the ground ahead and to both sides of the track. The horses had been hidden well, however, and the advance guards failed to detect the presence of the four hidden adventurers lying in wait amid the rocks and shrubs a hundred paces from the route. At the sharp bend, one of the advance guards rode back to the main body while the others continued slowly toward the river.

The main body came about a half-mile behind the advance. It consisted of several carts with huge wheels. These vehicles, as well as the score of mules that followed them, were laden with goods. About a dozen teamsters and animal handlers were with diem. A like number of armed raiders flanked the caravan. Before this procession was a huge, houda-equipped horse and three warhorses ridden by steel-encased warriors. Behind came a straggle of footmen herding a line of bearers. The latter appeared to be females, evidently taken for sale into slavery in the lands of the Horned Society of the Hierarchs. This could only be the band that Melf sought.

"There!" Biff called softly to his companion. "See the jaundiced vapors which have sprung up and roll toward the track? Master Melf casts his dweomer even now!"

Lizard peered at the growing mass of foglike vapor that was spreading outward and downward toward the approaching train. "They see the stuff," he replied excitedly to the halfling.

The outriders on the caravan's left were shouting. The train lurched ahead more rapidly in a confusion of cries and cracking whips. Too late. The cloud surged upon the track like an avalanche, engulfing animals and men in its roiling vapors. When it touched them, horses and mules kicked, bucked, and then fell. Men took a few steps and then likewise died. The cloud of poisonous vapors covered the trail from hillside to hillside and remained. The path was closed, but the head and tail of the caravan were untouched.

Lizard aimed carefully and released the first of his quarrels. An instant later, one of the guards at the head of the column of prisoners dropped in his tracks. "One!" shouted the cross-bowman triumphantly as he placed another quarrel in his arbalest and cocked it in one smooth motion.

The halfling's sling made a brief whirring sound, and another of the guards fell. "And one," Biff retorted.

As they began this assault with their missiles, the scene was changing quickly. At the rear of the caravan, those brigands not overcome by the poisonous cloud were quick to understand their peril and react. Several of the outriders joined these men, and the group turned the prisoners and retreated down the trail at a trot. Biff and Lizard had managed to fell two each and wound another two before the remainder were out of range. What was transpiring in the center of the column, however, was what drew their attention. Two armed figures appeared out of the cloud of poisonous vapors. These men were coming directly toward their position, for they had seen the pair at their contest.

Biff spun his sling and released the leaden bullet. "Tough foemen to survive those killing fumes!" he grunted to Lizard as the missile he had slung flew in the direction of one of the armored brigands coming toward their position.

"Quick too," Lizard said softly as the man used shield and movement to deflect the sling bullet. "Not over-quick, though!" he exclaimed as his quarrel buzzed and cut a bloody path across the exposed leg of the same brigand.

Neither said anything further. The two attackers were almost upon them, so they saved their breath. One more missile from Biffs sling, another bolt from Lizard's arbalest, and then halfling and human were grabbing dagger and sword to engage in close combat with the screaming brigands.

Events at the head of the caravan were going awry also. The leader's canopied mount, and the trio of guards as well, were clear of the rolling fog before it settled upon the path. When the cloud was seen, and its effects halted the train of brigands, the four at the van spurred their horses ahead, aiming at escape.

"The wind be damned!" Melf had cursed as the situation became clear. The breeze, gentle as it was, had caused his en-spelled cloud to strike behind the point he had intended. "Quick, Chert, to the enemy!" Without further word, wizard had gestured furiously, and a streak of burning fire raced from his finger. The flame inscribed a line that touched the fleeing brigands and then blossomed into a ball of roaring fire with a loud whoosh and a bang.

In an instant the burning globe consumed itself and was gone. Chert, loping down the hillside toward the road, hesitated for a split second when he observed the place where charred horses and dead men should have been. Instead there was a blackened circle and four galloping riders half a bowshot distant from the place.

"What happened, Melf?" Chert cried over his shoulder. Although there was no hope of him catching the fugitives now, the barbarian resumed his running anyway, calling out, "If you can stop them, I can slay the lot!"

Melf made no reply, for he was too busy. In a moment he was speeding through the sky, angling his course so that it intersected the line of the rough roadway as it twisted toward the ramplike descent from bluff top to river valley. As he went, the elven fighter-mage saw that the outriders were coming back to join the leader, having been attracted by the explosion of the fireball. On the opposite side of the Veng there was a black smudge in the air — the great ravens were beating upward and gathering in a flock. This was bad news! Having gained considerable ground on the escaping brigands, Melf shot downward, skidded to a halt on a grassy knoll, and began instantly to work another spell.

"You use illusions, do you?" Melf murmured under his breath as the results of his dweomercrafting were completed. "Then let's see how well you avoid the 'Tentacles!' "

Sooty black growths seemed to spring suddenly from the path in front of the four horsed brigands. The tentacles were so dark as to appear as nothingness, for they absorbed all light. The thick, ropelike strands writhed and twisted, lashing around in a hideous manner. Then, as if they were guided by some unseen eye, each of the ebon-hued protrusions grasped and entwined itself around a horse. One of the armored riders lost his seat when his mount was so seized, as the destrier lost its footing and crashed to the ground. This unfortunate brigand was immediately enwrapped in the coils of two of the black tentacles, members that were not already crushing mounts.

The other three riders were more fortunate — but not so their horses. Over a dozen of the rubbery arms had shot magically upward from Melf s enchantment, and at least a pair of the tentacles now held each animal. The two armored guards who were still in their saddles quit hacking at the snaky growths, leaped from their seats, and cut away at the tentacles holding the houda-bearing destrier.

All this occurred in but a trickle of time, a few minutes. Melf scarcely noted the activity, for he had other matters to deal with while the tentacles were seizing his quarry. The vanguard was nearly in a position to assist their leader, and it was time to deal with this threat. A sheet of flame shot up between outriders and the houda-bearing horse of the brigand leader, and several of the newcomers were consumed in the leaping tongues of fire, unable to save themselves by swerving or reining up short of the magical conflagration.

"Now for the rest!" Melf shouted aloud, running so as to place himself in position to cast his next spell. The horsemen milled in a knot before the wall of fire, and suddenly one of their number spotted the running elf. "That's grand," Melf grunted as he came to a sudden halt and began conjuring rapidly with odd, flashing gestures. His voice rose into a keening, whistling chant. Arrows thunked into the ground around him, and one glanced off his metal-shod leg, but he ignored them all.

"By a stroke of luck, I've ended your resistance," Melf said sardonically as he watched what occurred next. The horsemen had been galloping toward him in a straggle, and his answer had been a terrible bolt of lightning. The electricity was of violet blue, and it struck and leaped, arced and cracked from man to beast in a sizzling chain of death. When its full course had been run, nothing remained alive. The air was full of the smell of ozone and charred flesh. Despite himself, Melf felt sick. "Why must such be?" he asked the playful breezes softly. Then he returned to his duty.

Chert was upon the scene, avoiding the tentacles that still writhed, seeking someone or something to grasp. "Penwolf!" the barbarian screamed, the battlecry bringing the two mailed fighters around and on guard against him. The great battle-axe, Brool, buzzed a deathsong as the massive arms of the giant hillman brought the blade around in a glittering arc of steel. The war axe cleaved mesh and steel plate. Gurgling, one of the foemen pitched forward, a mortal wound gaping where the axe had nearly cut him in twain at the waist. His comrade, however, was upon Chert with a howl, delivering a stroke with his broadsword that left a red furrow across the barbarian's right arm. The two opponents settled down to a duel, axe versus broadsword, to the death.

"Shaz sneers at me!" Melf exclaimed, watching a wounded horse begin to trot slowly down the track. Before engaging Chert, the two henchmen of the mysterious rider had managed to chop the constricting tentacles. The magical members had inflicted bloody damage upon the hapless war-horse, but the animal still stood and carried its houda and rider away as commanded. The horse was slow and Melf reacted quickly. He again gestured, uttered a strange, staccato string of syllables, and shot forth his arm, with forefinger extended. A series of thick, greenish bolts shot forth, each glowing missile following its predecessor unerringly to impact upon the canopied arrangement atop the huge destrier.

"This is not so, and I do not believe," Melf said loudly as he observed the effect of the spell. When the last of the greenish streaks struck the houdalike affair, the draperies burst into a sudden fire, a flash followed, and then horse and houda were no more. Only a greasy, brownish cloud of smoke wafted slowly down the path where mount and rider had been. "Bring me true vision," the elven mage uttered as he passed the symbol of Fharlanghn before his eyes. Revealed thus was the same destrier and its odd trappings, proceeding as if nothing had occurred, save for the scorched areas of the canopy where his magic missiles had struck home.

"Now it is time for the final act of this charade," Melf said as he took flight, arrowing directly toward the concealed figure atop the horse. Before him extended a spear that grew magically as he flew, changing from a weapon the height of a tall man to an ashen shaft as long as a horseman's lance. "Behind you, you bastard!" Melf shrieked just before he was upon his target. He saw the wizened visage of a gnome, one eye nearly popping, the other squinted nearly closed. The demi-human was frantically gesturing in order to evoke some dweomer, but only a vague fountain of muddled colors sprang forth before Melf s broad-bladed spear took the creature in the shoulder.

The impact nearly sent Melf spinning, but he managed to continue. The gnome was carried from the houda trailing a ragged tail of draperies. "Quarter!" he screamed, dangling like a speared fish.

Melf ceased his magical flight, using the impaling spear to pin the foe to the ground as his feet jolted upon the turf. One look told him that the illusion-using gnome was in extremis and would die soon indeed. "Your death can be quick and clean, or I can keep you suffering for some time yet — that is the only quarter you will receive from me. Now, your choice?"

The gnome peered desperately around, then he glared hatefully at his slayer. "My curse forever upon your foul, peaked-eared head, elf, for what you have done to me!" he screamed defiantly.

Melf leaned upon the magic spear and twisted the shaft. The malign visage before him crumpled in pain, and the gnome's knotty arms and legs thrashed wildly.

"Mercy! Mercy!" screamed the small creature. "The curse is withdrawn!"

"Demons and devils take your miserable little curse, you stinking creature of woe," spat Melf. "I care not a jot about such mouthings. What is your name? Where is the dwarf who is your leader? Tell me that, and then you have my mercy!"

"Gleed… I am called Gleed, and my leader is… not here."

Melf twisted the weapon again and raised his voice to be heard over the gnome's cries of pain. "What is the name of this fellow, and what have you — or he — done with the object you have stolen from the far Suss Forest?"

"Aahghhh! Stop! I serve Obmi, Obmi the dwarf. He is to be here, awaiting us now — "

"And the ancient item I know you have?" Melf demanded, still leaning heavily on his weapon.

"It… it is with Obmi. He and Keak were to distract pursuit while the rest of us crossed Furyondy and made for the haven of the Hierarch's lands — damn and curse you!"

Pale-faced, Melf slowly eased his pressure and stared unbelievingly at the gnome. Could this Gleed be telling the truth? "You say Obmi, a dwarf, has the item, and that this one is abetted by someone named Keak? Tell me now, and do not try my patience further: Is this Keak a tall and thin elf who is given to hysterical laughter?"

"Yes, yes! No more, elf! Give what you have promised!"

Melf spoke a word softly under his breath, and the ashen spear changed suddenly into a javelin of but three cubits in length, its head a long triangle of steel rather than a leaf-tipped point. With a shuddering sigh, the gnome was released of pain, for the small weapon was no longer impaling him. Before anything else could transpire, however, the sunlight on the meadow suddenly dimmed as if a cloud had passed overhead. "Aid me!" the wounded gnome called as loudly as he could. Raucous cawing and piercing croakings answered his plea. A battering wing struck Melf s shoulder, and a sharp beak as large as a small knife drove at his eyes.

There ensued a whirlwind battle, a melee of elf versus a storm of swooping, croaking ravens the size of eagles. Using javelin and sword, Melf managed to slay a dozen of the vile birds in half as many minutes, but he was bleeding from as many wounds as well. Worse, there seemed to be more of the creatures winging down to join the fray, so that each time one squawked and fell dead, two were there to take the place of their dead flockmate. Then there were cries of anger and rage from the mass of foul ravens, and they flapped upward for a moment, giving Melf a respite. Wiping blood from his face, he glanced around to find the cause of the ravens' retreat.

"They like not Brool," a grinning Chert said, slowly swinging the long axe with mighty arms as gore-stained as the weapon's broad blade. Wounded ravens flopped on the ground at his feet. Several decapitated bodies were spread around him in a welter of inky feathers and crimson splatters.

"Well done!" cried Melf. "Perhaps now lean work up a bit of magic to finish them all."

"Here they come again," said the barbarian, bringing Brool up and enscribing a steely loop overhead to greet the swooping attack of the huge ravens.

A pair of the birds plummeted downward like stones. One had a thick quarrel protruding from its open beak, the other no head at all, for a leaden missile had carried the whole away when it found its mark. Unaware of the slaughter so done, the flock again attacked, giving no time for casting of spells. It was a brief sortie, though. Every bird that flapped up was brought low by bolt or sling bullet. Those within reach fell to axe, sword, and needle-pointed javelin.

"The carrion-eaters flee!" Melf said triumphantly as he sent a burning swarm of magical shafts after the birds. The glowing streaks hit a handful of the ravens and sent them tumbling and falling, dead, to leave sooty bundles of filth on the fair green of the sward.

"What's left of them," Chert agreed laconically, for even as Melf laid several low, another pair fell from quarrel and sling bullet. Only a dozen or so of the ravens lived to voice their mournful caws of hatred from a distance growing ever greater as they winged northward, back from where they had come.

"Well done I say again," said the elven spell-caster, this time not only to Chert, but to his halfling friend and the lean crossbowman who accompanied him.

"No great matter," Lizard said as he and Biff strolled toward the panting pair of combatants. "Strolled" was perhaps not the correct description, for the arbalester limped and Biff walked slowly, favoring his wounded left side.

"Aye, that's so," the halfling concurred as he halted near Melf and Chert. "This mountain and you, Master, would have knocked all those stinking wormbags from the air without us — our shooting merely hastened the process."

Chert patted the halfling gently atop his thick-haired head. "Thanks, nonetheless, minimus. The mountain appreciates the assistance of the mole."

"The contest elsewhere was hot," offered Lizard, "but the cowards at the rear eventually broke and ran, taking their prisoners with them as shields. We saw the circling ravens, so we gave up pursuit and came here instead."

"How many escaped?" Melf asked.

"No more than seven or eight all told. Lizard and I had a small contest, but neither he nor I won," Biff said with a crooked smile.

"Wrong! Halfling, who slew more blackbirds?" Lizard stared unwinkingly at the still grinning Biff as he spoke.

"You did keep count even then, did you?"

"Indeed, as you have."

"Just so," Biff laughed. "And you gain my tithe…"

Chert interrupted the banter. "There!" die barbarian hill-man cried, pointing as he shouted. "What is that?"

Melf spat as he saw the cause for Chert's surprise. A bowshot's distance away, a gray-black horse had appeared suddenly from a clump of scrub. The odd-looking animal was running with impossible speed toward the river. "No matter," the elf said heavily. "It is but the vile little gnome using a phantom steed to escape us. A pity, for he is evil and undeserving of life, but that is of small consequence to us."

"The treasure? What of the artifact he bore?" Biff asked. "I was duped, and led us on the trail of those whom that crafty dwarf wished us to follow. Although I never saw this Obmi, I allowed him to slip through my fingers — and the artifact with him."

"How so?" asked the brawny hillman as he cleaned his great axe.

"At the inn, days ago. Obmi is accompanied by a lieutenant. This miserable, mad elf is called Keak. I met and had converse with him there. The crafty jackal set me on this path while he and his evil master made for safety elsewhere," Melf said with a shake of his head.

Lizard laughed mirthlessly. "Laying low this pack of dogs is righteous work regardless. And now it is time to move on, I think!"

His three companions followed the direction of his steady gaze. They saw a thick, black fog forming on the other shore of the river. Above the gloom flew a score of the nighted ravens.

"This bodes ill indeed," Melf said. "Do what you wish here, but be ready to ride southward soon. I go to see what foulness is being invoked across the Veng; my guess is that it won't stay mere long!"

Melf was back before half an hour had passed. "The black fog is the very essence of Hades itself!" he told the others. "It oozes across the river slowly, but once on this bank it will come as a juggernaut. Get the horses. We ride now!"

The four rode rapidly through the thickening twilight. High above to the north, black specks circled. The keen-eyed ravens watched the progress of the adventurers and conveyed their route to those hidden by the enveloping shroud of vapors. Melf’s group rode on after nightfall, leaving the rutted path and angling cross-country to the west. The pace was easy, for a horse could easily break a leg if ridden hard in such conditions. Every hour they would stop to change horses, walking for a bit, and washing down dry rations with tepid water as they went.

"Let's call a halt here," Melf called softly. "The copse of trees yonder should be suitable for our needs."

Biff, being the least wounded of the party, volunteered to stand watch while the other three slept. Melf had no more than closed his eyes, it seemed, when the halfling's urgent warning brought him to full awareness. "Melf! Come quickly, this way! Something terrible comes this way now… I feel an awful terror in my very bones!"

"Get the others up and armed," Melf replied to the frightened halfling, "while I go to see what the nature of the beast is."

As Melf moved away from the camp, he could hear the quiet sounds of veterans readying for some unknown peril. There were no calls or cursings, only the matter-of-fact noise of armor being donned and weapons unsheathed. Chert and Lizard had been awakened and with Biff were making ready for who knew what. Melf crept to the verge of the grove, staying well within the shadows, peering in the direction they had come. He too sensed a great, malign presence there.

Peering skyward, the elven mage noted that the starry expanse was blackened and blurred. Then he heard a creaking beat, accompanied by groans and a soughing of the air. His knees shook, and it took all of his will to stand and face what came. Terror washed over him in waves, and something deep inside his mind tried to compel him to scream and fall down in despair. Instead, Melf drew forth a slender wand of adamantite. The ancient metal was engraved with curious squiggles, and the tip bore a pale, milky crystal. He stroked the device and whispered, bringing the crystalline point into luminescence.

"Now let us see what you are," he drawled casually, denying his fear. He inscribed a glowing rectangle in the air before him, and as he completed it the phosphors from the tip of the wand flowed to form a plane of palest violet before him. This effect was duplicated instantly in the air before the oncoming thing, as it flapped and groaned and sent terror in driving waves before it.

An ear-splitting roar shook the trees as the thing struck the magical force thrown up before it by the elven dweomercrafter. Melf looked away from the abomination that the interplay of force and malign magic of the lower regions created when they met. The vaguely batlike daemon was elephantine in size and terrible of visage. It struggled against the screen of energy, tearing madly with mindless fury. As the monstrosity broke through, Melf worked quickly, causing another and yet a third plane offered to spring into magical being.

"May you tear yourself to bits fighting such!" he said vehemently to the unhearing monster. Then he turned and ran to where his companions waited. This was a thing to flee from, not to fight.

The group broke from the trees in a rush, reckless now of rough ground. The mounts galloped without urging, spurred on by the malign waves of fear inspired by the flying daemon from the deepest pits of Hades itself. It seemed as if they would actually escape, for the abomination was still battling the last of Melf’s force walls when they rode away. Soon enough, however, the soughing was all around them again, and with it the stench of vilest evil.

"Now we must dismount and make it pay dearly for our souls," Melf said heavily. Even as they prepared, the heavens were shaken by a triumphant bellow, and the beating of monstrous pinions resounded from the hills. The four stood in a line facing the onrushing monster conjured from the depths of woe. Each knew this would be his last battle.