Saga of the Old City

Chapter 30

The ancient steps were hewn from the rock of the mountain itself, their chiseled edges worn smooth over the ages by persons or things that these adventurers could not guess at. Chert led the way, followed by Curley Greenleaf, Gord, and then the huge bear, who had some difficulty squeezing his bulk through the narrow confines of the place. The quartet descended slowly, each member keeping within two or three steps of the others at all times. Gord kept count of the steps as he negotiated them, and reached the bottom and the number ninety at the same time. The three men fanned out at the end of the stairway, slowly turning to survey the place they had found beneath the stone barrow.

They were in a natural cave, a domed grotto of circular shape. The roof of the cave was hung with long stalactites, and the floor was dotted with mounds that looked like rounded-off stalagmites, as if something had passed over them frequently. Leaning against the wall nearby were several pitch-covered pieces of wood, obviously a store of torches left there long ago. Three passages led away from this large chamber, the entrance to each showing evidence of having been shaped by tools in some distant age. One was directly across from the stair, while the other two offered egress to the left and the right. None of these dark passages seemed more or less promising than the others. Which led to the demon’s lair? Which to the hidden relic? Perhaps none… or all.

“Let’s go straight ahead,” suggested Gord. “If we come to any branchings, we always turn right. That way we can never lose our way.”

His two companions agreed, and the great bear simply followed the druid. The four went to the arched entry to the chosen passage and looked cautiously down its length. The magical light shed by the lodestone affixed to Chert’s steel cap allowed them to see sixty feet into the tunnel, formed of a combination of natural and worked stone.

A faint stirring of the air brought to their noses a putrid odor, a nauseating mixture of decay and foulness. Yurgh snorted as the scent struck his nostrils. Then the bear pushed past the humans, heading down the broad passageway at a fast shuffle. Gord, Chert, and Greenleaf followed quickly, passing through the entrance one by one, and then moving into a line abreast once past that stricture. The corridor was about six paces wide, more than sufficient space for the three men to travel and fight side by side. With Gord on the left, Greenleaf in the center, and Chert on the right, they followed the bear, keeping within two or three paces of Yurgh’s flanks.

Once they were thirty or forty feet inside the passage, the light revealed a wall in the distance. They were coming to an intersection where the way was no longer straight; paths curved to the left and the right, which gave the men their first opportunity to put Gord’s procedure into action. But Yurgh knew nothing of such intentions, nor would he have cared if he had. The bear lumbered ahead and into the left corridor without hesitation.

“His nose tells him which way to go,” said the druid quietly to his companions as they trotted to keep up with the animal. “So that’s the way we go, too.”

The passage curved gently and seemed to be heading back in the general direction of the grotto they had just left. The clicking of the bear’s claws and the pounding of the men’s leather heels on the stone floor raised faint echoes around them. The vaulted ceiling of the passageway sent these sounds bouncing back and forth in a confusing manner. The noise did not seem to distract Yurgh in the least, for he went on without pause, veering to the right into another straight tunnel when the corridor they were trodding branched in a Y-shape. Gord began to feel himself losing all sense of distance and direction as their ursine bloodhound took them right yet again into another curving branch of the passage, then along one more straight course, before suddenly coming to a halt in front of another intersection.

“He pauses to sniff which way the demon lies,” the druid said.

“Phew!” Chert replied and spat as he did so. “This reeking stench is so foul that the thing must be everywhere.”

Yurgh swung his barrel-like head back and forth several times, making snorting and snuffling sounds with his nose, then held his snout pointed to the left for a long second. With a grunt, the monstrous cave bear moved forward again, slowly this time, holding his nose close to the chiseled stone beneath them as he took the left-hand branch.

Suddenly the sound of a high-pitched giggle enveloped the group, making the humans start. At this, Yurgh growled loudly, and the bear’s mane of fur bristled. Gord felt horripilations on his head as well. Walking stiffly, baring his teeth and growling, the bear went on, closely followed by the three men. They would all soon face the demonic cataboligne in what the men presumed would be a fight to the death.

After what seemed hundreds of yards, but was certainly not that far, the curved walls of the passage once more offered a choice of direction. The correct one was evident to all at this point, however, for a dull, blue-violet luminosity pervaded the air in the tunnel to the right. Then the light faded and again laughter sounded-neither chuckle nor malign giggle this time, but a sweet peal of melodious laughter, seductively feminine and appealing, gently echoing down the passage. The bear snarled but continued to move slowly. After exchanging glances of uncertainty, the men followed.

After only a few dozen more paces, the passage turned sharply and opened into a large and beautiful cavern. The four of them arrived at the entranceway at virtually the same time, and at that instant a woman’s voice boomed out.

“Welcome, strangers!” The speaker was standing in the center of the oval place, arms spread wide in greeting. “Since my little tricks failed to dissuade you, I have no choice but to surrender myself to your mercies, trusting that you will not slay or abuse me!”

This statement seemed preposterous to Gord, for the glowing, blue horror which towered before them appeared capable of rending the huge cave bear to bits. Further, he could not understand why this gruesome monster spoke with a female voice through its lipless, fanged mouth. Perhaps this was an irony of condition, for never before had he seen anything so foully evil, ugly, and terrible. The dulcet voice made the horror of this demon more awful still.

“May I come from this place of safety, sirs?” it continued. “Have I your pledge that you will not hurt me?”

“Stay where you stand, woman!” Curley Greenleaf ordered. “If you move from that little isle in your lagoon, we will surely slay you, even naked and helpless as you appear.” Gord, feeling himself becoming confused, nudged the druid at this point, but Greenleaf ignored the contact and went on.

“We seek a cataboligne, a demon of fearsome power. If you are not such, prove it by telling us where this fiend lurks, and we might spare you.”

“Aren’t you cold?” interjected the barbarian as he stared at the figure in the center of the cavern.

Now Gord’s head was swimming. Woman? Naked and helpless? Lagoon? Cold? What were his companions talking about? The scaled and wrinkled demon that leered from huge, horizontal-pupiled eyes at bear and men was certainly naked of clothing. But it was most certainly not female, as far as human standards went, and from where Gord stood, the thing seemed comfortable as its splayed, clawed feet rested on the rock of the cavern’s hard surface-a floor that displayed not the slightest trace of water, but which was strewn with a welter of bones, skulls, and other undefinable litter.

Gord tentatively put his free hand on Greenleaf’s shoulder as if to shake the druid awake from a dream. “Have you gone daft?” he asked, but before he could speak further, the demon interrupted him, and both of his fellow adventurers had their attention riveted on the figure in front of them.

“Oh, yes!” said the thing in the cavern sweetly. “I will tell you where that nasty cataboligne is! It hurts me, and I hate its evil. I will gladly show you the way to its lair, a place not too far from here… unless brave men fear to have a naked and defenseless woman accompany them.” With that, the demon took a small step toward the four.

Yurgh growled softly, but he did not seem frightened and did not move forward to meet the thing. Curley and Chert seemed likewise unafraid-but Gord was horrified by the approach of the cataboligne!

As he fought to retain control of his reason in the face of his terror, Gord noticed for the first time that the sword in his hand seemed to be pulsing, and in an eye-blink he put everything together in his mind: The demon had somehow placed a glamour upon his companions, a magic that made them think they were facing an unclothed woman of harmless aspect. But the power of Gord’s weapon overcame the dweomer of the demon for him and enabled him to see the creature for what it really was!

Without dwelling further on the matter, Gord rapped the druid sharply on the left arm, using the flat of his blade. “Clear your brain, man!” he shouted, no longer tentative in the least. “The godsdamned demon comes for us!”

The cataboligne had been fixing its gaze on the bear, taking small, cautious steps toward it with the evident intention of finishing the giant ursine before going after the men. But then the earless, egg-shaped head jerked up at the sound of Gord’s desperate warning, and the terrible eyes locked on the young thief. An unspeakable fear filled Gord, and the wash of it weakened his muscles and made his knees knock together. He almost dropped his sword-but as his fingers loosened, the hilt somehow stuck fast in his hand. The demon continued to stare at Gord, but in the space of two or three seconds the feeling of terror passed and he felt himself able to move again.

“At the bastard thing, for your lives!” he shouted, and with that cry he darted a couple of steps forward, ready to do battle.

The effect of Gord’s actions freed the others from the illusion they had been beholding, as evidenced by their immediate reactions. Yurgh roared with ear-splitting ferocity, stood erect, and shuffled forward on his back legs. The druid swung a hammer free from his left wrist where it had been thonged, loosed it toward the demon in a single, whirling motion, and then held his ground near the chamber entrance. The barbarian stepped up to close quarters with the terrible foe, battle-axe held ready to strike.

All of the demon’s intended victims were now bent on destroying the thing, but the monster was not unprepared for this turn of events. Distracted for a split-second by the bear’s roar, the cataboligne failed to avoid the thrown warhammer-but even as it was struck on the body by the whirling weapon, the demon was acting to again put its attackers at a disadvantage. The blue radiance it gave off became a brief, eye-searing blue flash-and then all light was gone, including that from the lodestone on Chert’s helmet. The cavern was plunged into total darkness.

“Come close, demon dog, and feel Brool!” The cry came from Chert, standing off to Gord’s right between the thief and the bear. Although he was blinded, a low humming sound indicated that the barbarian was swinging his great battle-axe to and fro before him.

The demon’s response was a hideous, chilling laughter, a sound like a dozen insane children in demented glee.

Gord found that he could see clearly despite the blackness, although colors were not as they should have been. It took a moment for his brain to learn how to deal with things-and by then it was almost too late!

“To your right, Chert!” screamed Gord. “The thing is moving between you and Yurgh!” He saw Chert turn in response to his warning, just as the demon pivoted to face Gord, glaring banefully, and pointed at him with a scaled, claw-fingered hand. Instinctively, Gord took evasive acrobatic action, not a second too soon. Gray light issued from the cataboligne’s eyes, first striking the place where he had been and then following the path of his leap and roll. Before he could rise from his half-prone position, Gord felt the strange radiance touch him. A terrible wave of pain passed through him; then his muscles were convulsed by a vicious cramping, and he couldn’t move. Paralyzed, Gord could only watch what transpired next.

As the demon was spending its power on Gord, the druid had been at work. Thanks to a spell guided by Greenleaf’s elven eyesight, the cataboligne was now limned with a pale radiance, and both barbarian and bear could see its form outlined in pale green phosphorescence. Chert was closer and struck immediately.

“Brool bites!” he bellowed, leaping forward and burying his axe in the demon’s scaly thigh. The big barbarian was dwarfed by the towering cataboligne, but the blow caused the demon to shriek in pain. As Chert drew back the blade, the demon sent a stream of ugly, blue darts from its fingers. These missiles struck the barbarian, and he reeled backward.

What the demon intended next was uncertain, for a snarling form struck it in fury, and cataboligne and cave bear were locked in a tearing, clawing, biting, roaring melee. The bear’s rush actually overbore the demon, and the two combatants rolled and fought locked together thus. Chert, still staggering from the effects of the strike he had absorbed, followed their path as they thrashed about the chamber, being careful not to be crushed beneath these titanic opponents but staying ready to strike with his axe again when he could get a clear target.

“Move!”

That word came from Greenleaf, who shouted in Gord’s ear at the same instant that the thief’s muscles came back to life. He had not felt the druid’s initial touch, but now the healing magic had worked, and he could fend for himself again!

“Thank you,” was all he could get out before the druid dashed off to go to the barbarian’s side. Gord stood and moved carefully to gain a position where he could attack without fear of interfering with his friends. Within a few steps, the last vestiges of stiffness left his limbs, and he felt as fit as he had before.

Gord could see that Curley Greenleaf was touching Chert, just as he had ministered to Gord moments earlier. At that moment the bear gave an awful roar, shuddered, and lay still. The scaly demon stood up, pulling free from the embrace of the mortally wounded Yurgh. The cataboligne was torn by tooth and claw in several places, and yellow-green ichor dripped from its wounds. Throwing its head back in triumph, the cataboligne howled a cry of victory. Filled with bloodlust, it ignored the men and reached down to break and crush the bear. Just then, Chert struck again.

The first swing of his humming axe only grazed the demon’s right arm that was reaching for Yurgh’s motionless body. But the barbarian recovered quickly, and the weapon’s backswing took the demon on its other arm, putting a deep gash in it. The demon bellowed again, but this time its shout was not triumphant.

“Come on, you blue bugger, fight me!” Chert challenged.

The demon accepted, spinning with catlike speed and swiping its uninjured arm in a clawed blow which tore into the barbarian’s chest, unbalancing him and allowing the towering monster to use its wounded arm to strike and hold Chert. The demon’s long claws sank into his flesh, but the barbarian was not finished. He worked his right arm free and struck again.

“Brool!” he managed to cry, as the battle-axe again impacted on the demon’s severely wounded left arm. This time the blade bit true, and the limb was severed from the monster’s body. With a shriek, the cataboligne leapt off and away from Chert, grabbed up its lost arm, and held it up against the place from which it had been severed. As Gord watched with a mixture of fascination and horror, the demon’s sickening ichor flooded over and into the twitching arm, and a blurring seemed to occur around the wound. The demon was reattaching its lost limb!

Gord was moving up to stab the monster while its attention was elsewhere, but before he was close enough to do so, a sheet of roaring flame sprang up between him and the demon. It was said that such creatures revel in fire, but evidently this one didn’t. The thing roared in anger when the flames appeared, but continued to concentrate on repairing its arm.

At first the fire seemed hesitant to approach the demon’s body, almost as if something prevented it from coming near. The crackling fire danced in a ring encompassing the monster, and all the while it kept working on its arm. The flames went out for a second and then reappeared, this time in a blazing mass that enveloped the thing and threatened to consume it-but too late! Now whole again, the creature raised its arms and brought them down, and as they lowered, the flames dimmed and began to die. Scorched and smoking, the demon strode forward away from the last licking tongues of fire. As the last of the flames died, so did the greenish luminescence that had swathed the demon, again making the thing invisible to those without special sight.

Not hampered by the lack of light, Greenleaf advanced toward the monster, stopping less than a spear’s length away and adopting a defiant stance. Chert was off to one side, back on his feet but obviously still trying to recover from the onslaught he had suffered, and now once more left in the dark.

Thanks to his sword, of course, Gord could still see. As demon and druid confronted each other, Gord circled stealthily around on the side opposite Chert until he was behind the creature’s field of vision. He continued to creep as the monster spoke.

“Little druid, your useless spells are nothing to me. I would have used my powers to destroy all of you long before this, but I enjoy breaking such miserable creatures as you with my bare hands!” The demon was speaking softly, with malign persuasiveness, but Greenleaf stood immobile in front of the thing, spear held in both hands before him, refusing to flinch or show fear.

“Humans beg so wonderfully, and shriek and cry when I slowly pull and break them…. What fun, what joy!” the cataboligne continued to purr evilly. One blue, clawed hand reached out slowly in Greenleaf’s direction. “Perhaps I will make you into a replacement for my last servant, the one you thoughtlessly destroyed above, when I finally go free from this prison to-”

“Shitmouth!” Greenleaf shouted as he stabbed his spear into the demon’s slowly reaching hand. “You think I am taken with your foul enchantments of voice? Take that!” And so saying, the druid struck again, this time tearing the other grabbing hand with the keen spearhead.

By this time, Gord had reached his destination behind the monster. Recoiling from the two painful spear attacks, the cataboligne backed full into Gord’s own assault. Its lower back was unprotected and unprepared, and both shortsword and long dagger went home, driven in to their hilts by the young thief’s muscles and the demon’s own motion.

For a second, the monster continued backward, convulsed with the shock of the assault. Then it jerked forward. The dagger was yanked from the grip of Gord’s left hand by the sudden move, but the sword held fast in his other hand, and a geyser of stinking ichor shot out as the enchanted blade tore free of the wound. Howling and yelling the foulest curses, the monster turned to lunge at its new tormentor.

“Now, Chert, at him!” said the druid in wrathful voice, as he cast a second spell to renew the glowing on and around the demon.

The first thing Chert saw was the demon turned away from him with one clawed hand pointing upward-and Gord suspended in mid-air, several feet away from the claws and some thirty feet above the cavern floor. Without stopping to think about what he beheld, the wounded barbarian pounced forward and sunk his great axe into the monster’s thigh once again. Curley Greenleaf followed with a spear-thrust into the demon’s other leg a split-second later. The two blows hurt the creature seriously and broke its spell. Gord plummeted to the stone below. He managed to come down on his feet, tumbled to absorb most of the force of impact, rolled away, and came up shaken but not seriously harmed.

The demon was now terribly hurt, but it was not ready to break off and seek escape. Confined in this underground place for centuries, the monster was no longer sane-if any such thing can ever be said to have sanity. Its desire was to inflict pain and death now. This malign wish had pervaded the demon’s existence, but never with such irrationality as now when it was itself suffering the pain it loved to wreak on its victims. Forgetting about its magical powers, despising flight, ignoring the knowledge that it was able to pass the door which formerly held it imprisoned, the cataboligne sought only to kill the humans challenging it, and to do so most hideously.

Even as its body toppled forward, crippled legs no longer able to support it, the demon grabbed for the barbarian and took Chert down beside it with a swipe of its claws. The other arm lashed out for Curley Greenleaf and scooped his body in close where the demon could maul the druid with its fangs.

The sight of his friends being bloodied drove Gord into a rage. He ran forward without reservation and began raining a furious series of cuts and stabs down upon the scaly back of the prone demon. Some of the blows glanced off the thick plates of horn that covered the cataboligne, and others were not serious wounds-mere scrapes and pricks to the mountain of malign substance receiving the blows. Nonetheless, over a period of time that could not have been nearly as long as it seemed, Gord’s small sword wrought a terrible tattoo on the demon’s hide. Bluish flesh parted in places, and filthy ichor spewed forth under the razor-sharp edge and needlelike point of the young adventurer’s dripping blade.

“Die, you filthy bastard-thing! Die! DIE!” Gord shouted over and over as he struck and hacked the demon.

Then, after what seemed like an eternity, Gord heard another voice between his cries of outrage.

“You can stop, friend…. It is finished.”

Gord stopped his thrashing and looked to the side, toward the sound of Chert’s voice. The barbarian was kneeling, hands on thighs, breathing heavily.

Gord pulled back slowly and faced forward again, staring at the mess before his eyes. The cataboligne’s whole upper torso was a welter of wounds, and the demon was unmoving, save for occasional convulsive twitchings of its dying nervous system. Gore-spattered and stinking, Gord stood alive over the body of the monstrous demon-alive!

He looked back at his companion. “We have won, Chert!” Gord said, almost not believing his own words. “We have slain the bastard! We’re alive!”

“You and I are, Gord,” said Chert. “But Curley is dead, and his great bear slain too. What a price we have paid for this victory….”