The Elves of Cintra

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

WHAT HAPPENED NEXT caught Kirisin Belloruus completely by surprise. As he stepped onto the dragon's tongue, across the front row of teeth and into the mouth itself, everything behind him disappeared. Simralin, the cavern cham–ber with its stalactites and layers of ice, and even the smallest hint of light vanished as if they had never been.

The boy stopped where he was, barely across the threshold of the great mouth, and looked back in disbelief He swung his solar torch in a wide arc, seeking to penetrate the darkness, but he might as well have been pointing it at a blank wall. The powerful beam failed to reveal anything beyond the inside of the mouth. He shone it ahead, into the dragon's throat, and was surprised all over again. Unlike before, when Simralin had tried unsuccessfully with hers, his solar torch shone down a darkened corridor, deep into the interior of the dragon. The corridor was ridged and cored out like an animal's throat, but he could not de–termine where it led.

Presumably, into the beast's stomach, he thought. Where he might end up as dinner.

But he preferred to think that this was where he would find the Loden. He considered briefly stepping back across the dragon's teeth, but the idea of going back at this point seemed wrong. What if he couldn't get back inside again? Now that he was here, he should con–tinue on and see what would happen.

He started ahead, walking carefully, making sure he was on solid footing. He need not have worried. The tunnel or throat was as solid as the rock of the caves outside. But he noticed that it wasn't as cold in here, as if the dragon was alive and kept warm by its body heat. That prospect was too troublesome for him to consider for long, and so he pushed ahead into the blackness.

He walked for a long time–much longer than should have been possible. The corridor twisted and turned, and that didn't seem possi–ble, either. Now and again he could hear a rumbling sound, the sort that a big animal makes. He tried not to think about it. He tried not to think about anything but what he was trying to do, putting one foot in front of the other, keeping an eye out for what might be wait–ing ahead.

He also tried not to think about the fact that he didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Despite all his walking, everything around him looked exactly the same.

Then abruptly, his torch went out, and he was left standing in com–plete blackness.

For a moment, he just stood there, not quite believing what had happened. He worked the power switch back and forth a few times and slapped the light's casing with the palm of his hand. Nothing. He experienced a moment of sheer panic, but quickly fought it down. He hung the solar torch back on his belt and was starting to reach for one of his flares when he suddenly had an idea. Impulsively, he held out the blue Elfstones; using what he had learned from the other times he had done so, he called up their magic.

Blue light flared in his fist and filled the corridor ahead. To his sur–prise, it didn't seek out the Loden as he had thought it would. Instead, it simply brightened the corridor enough for him to continue on. He did so, following its steadily advancing wash into the ice dragon's throat.

The minutes clicked by, too many to count, time an intangible he could not measure.

Then without warning the tunnel ended and he was standing in a chamber that might have been a cave or the dragon's stomach or an–other world entirely. It didn't look quite like anything he had ever seen or even imagined. The moment he stepped into it, light exploded all around him, coming from the floor, the ceiling, and the walls, envelop–ing everything in its white luminescence. It felt as if he were standing at the very center of the light; he could see nothing of anything else.

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 rip–pling 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 glim–mered brightly all around him, a shimmering cushion. He tried to ig–nore 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, stead–ied, 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, try–ing 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 ac–cepted, 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, hav–ing 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 him–self standing once more within the dragon's open jaws, peering out through the double rows of its serrated teeth toward the glow of Sim–ralin's torch.

In the shadows beyond the maw of the dragon, he saw her move to–ward 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

"DEMON!" 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 num–bered more than a hundred, moved with her. Already she had sum–moned 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 des–peration. 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 shad–ows, 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, delib–erately, it slouched toward her. The feeders were leaping all about them, anxious and hungry, anticipating their battle. Angel braced her–self 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, remem–bering anew how close it had come to killing her at both of their pre–vious 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 forgot–ten. 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 at–tacker. 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 al–ready 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 ter–rible 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.

It wasn't enough. The demon came at her so quickly that she barely had time to react. Fire lanced from her staff, burning into the creature, breaking through skin and scales and flesh and perhaps even bone. But it didn't stop it. Ignoring her efforts to keep it at bay, it slammed into Angel, knocking her backward across the ice, knocking the wind from her lungs. Claws ripped and tore. Heavy limbs pounded. She felt streaks of fiery pain race up and down her body. She felt ribs snap. She felt her right arm go numb and her left leg collapse. She felt her joints loosen and her head spin. For a second, she thought she was going to break apart.

But she held on. She might have been finished then and there, but the demon had come at her so hard that its momentum carried it past her once again, across the frozen surface of the snow and into the rocks out of which it had come. It screamed and hissed as it flew past, claws digging at the ice, fighting to gain purchase, failing to do so. Angel saw it for only seconds, a dark shadowy nightmare, and she whipped her staff at its head and chased after it with her magic's fire. Slowly, she staggered back to her feet, leaning heavily on the staff. The entire right side of her body was a mass of blood. She could barely keep herself up–right. She pulled the all–weather cloak from her back and wrapped it around her injured arm, trying to cushion it against further damage. She couldn't tell, but the bones of her forearm might already be bro–ken. She grimaced. If so, they were not the only ones.

She watched the demon emerge from the rocks once more, slouch–ing out of the shadows. It looked worse than she did, but it was still coming. She shook her head, despairing. She did not know what it would take to stop it, but she did not think it was anything she pos–sessed.

The feeders, she thought darkly, massing all about them, were an–ticipating that they would feast on both.

The demon charged her again, not so quickly this time, its stamina sapped and its strength depleted. Even so, she could not get out of its way. She used the fire on its face, and as it slammed into her she shoved her bad arm, still wrapped in her cloak, and the length of her staff be–tween its jaws to try to block away its teeth. Then, as fresh pain ratch–eted through her, she did the one thing she had always known she must never do. She let go of her staff and with her hands freed, she ripped at the demon's face with the serrated palms of her needle gloves.

A second time, she got lucky. One of the gloves caught the demon just above its good eye and tore downward across its face.

The cat thing shrieked in pain and rage, the entire half of its face turned into a red smear. As she struggled to break free of it, claws tore at her, opening fresh wounds. Angel ignored them, regaining her grip on her staff, calling up its magic the moment her fingers closed about its length. She thrust the demon away, watching it thrash in a blind frenzy as it slid backward. Still collapsed on her belly, she used her pain and rage to fuel the Word's magic and sent it tearing into her adversary.

She screamed at it as she did so, in that instant little more than an animal herself

The magic struck the demon with a fury that transcended anything of which Angel had thought herself capable. It exploded against the demon's mangled head, bore into it and shattered it like glass.

The head flew apart, gone in an instant. The body thrashed for long moments after, as if not yet aware that it was no longer whole, that it had noth–ing to guide it. Feeders descended on it, burying it in a mass of writhing shadows. It collapsed beneath them, shuddered once, and lay still.

Angel dropped to her knees, her staff gripped tightly in both hands, the fading magic of the Word's fire licking at the smooth black ends like cat's tongues. She stared at the demon's corpse, not quite comprehending that it was lifeless. She waited for it to move. She waited for it to rise and come for her.

But the demon lay where it was, headless and lifeless. When the feeders began to drift away, Angel realized finally that it would not ever move again. She tried to lever herself up so that she could go to her friends. She had to find them and protect them. The other demon could have reached them by now and it would finish the job that this one started and the Loden would be lost and the Elves compromised

She struggled to rise but found that her legs would not work; her muscles were too weak. She could only get to her knees.

Then she could not even manage that, and she collapsed into black–ness.