Death's Angels

Chapter Seven

The Foragers looked at one another. The noise ceased, to be replaced by conversation between a human voice and one that belonged to something eerily other. It was high-pitched, gibbering and insane, possessed of a timbre that was not the product of any human throat. Rik could not make out the words, and he doubted he could understand them anyway. They had the strange, cracked quality of one of the ancient demon tongues used by sorcerers in Sorrow.

“Form up men,” said the Lieutenant. “Stand ready. We are discovered.”

“What makes you say that?” muttered Weasel, edging away from the direction the sound was coming from and putting his back to the wall. Rik looked around. Most of the men had drawn pistols or knives even those who held torches. Sardec gestured for them to fall back. Space was confined and he needed room to wield his blade. The Barbarian stood beside him, a look of determination on his face.

“Don’t shoot until I give the order. Don’t want to hit our own accidentally or have a ricochet get us. This is blade work, men, unless you get a clear and certain shot.” Only the slightest trace of strain showed in Sardec’s voice.

Rik’s fingers tightened on his own weapons. Something was coming towards them, something large and heavy, something that made a strange slithering sound mixed with scuttling as it moved. His imagination conjured up the vision of a massive serpent coming to devour them or a huge spider, its slimy sides scuffing the stonework of the walls. Severin raised his arms and began to chant.

The demon came into view, and it was worse by far than anything Rik had expected. In the gloom it was not possible to make out all the details and for that he was glad. What he could see was quite bad enough to live in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

The thing was perhaps the size of a small bull, with a body that at first suggested that of a great spider till he noticed that it was armoured and segmented like a centipede’s. It moved along on six columnar legs, jointed several times. In the centre and front of its torso, where the eyes of a spider would have been, was a head that resembled the body of a squid. It had eight stalks and at the end of each stalk was an eye. In the centre was the mouth. What looked like two long stabbing prongs constantly retracted and extruded on either side of it. Worst of all were the huge blades that emerged from the front of the torso. Once they might have been legs, but they had changed and adapted till now they were massive scythes, poised to strike. They were an odd venomous green, and Rik felt sure that their touch would mean poisonous death.

The air was filled with the smell of rot and spice and something musty. The demon gibbered crazily.

“An Ultari,” said Sardec. Rik gasped. It was a name he had heard whispered in fear in the Street of Sorcerers in Sorrow. It was one of the old demon races, famed for their cruelty and insanity, the spawn of the Spider God, Uran Ultar, long thought gone from the surface of Gaeia.

It was massive. Its skin was oddly blotched and albino white. How long had it been down here, Rik wondered? How had it survived? Was it the last of its race, lurking in the shadowy depths far from the eyes of its successors? What strange tales could it tell and what strange lore did it possess?

He realised he was gibbering himself. His thoughts were a constant fear-filled babble as the thing reared over the Lieutenant and the Barbarian, moving with an awful speed despite its bulk, dwarfing the wizard, the officer and the man. It lashed out with its claws. Its first blow sliced open the wizard’s chest and sent him tumbling to the ground. The strike had cut him almost in two. Apparently not even being a master wizard made you immune to the claws of a demon.

The Lieutenant’s blade bit into the Ultari’s chitinous flesh just as one of the glistening blades lashed out at him. It caught him a glancing blow on the forehead that toppled him.

Quick as cat, the Barbarian leapt backwards, parrying a scythe with his heavy knife. An eerie screeching noise filled the air as the two met. Rik half-expected the Ultari’s claw-weapon to break but it did not. It launched another blow at the Barbarian, aiming both blades at him.

“Don’t help me you idle bastards!” shouted the Barbarian, panic and berserker rage warring in his voice. “I can take this thing all by myself! Easy!”

Rik heard feet racing away up the tunnels but did not glance around to see who fled. Instead he raised his pistol, took careful aim at the space among all those writhing stalk eyes.

As his finger squeezed the trigger, the thing flowed towards him in swift serpentine movement, its long segmented lower body rippling upwards, even as its forward torso flowed downwards. A spear-like stinger emerged from the tail, dripping some foul poisonous slime. The shot was deafening in the confined space. The smell of powder warred with the smell of spice. The creature screamed as the bullet found a resting place but Rik knew he had not killed it.

There was no time to reload. Instead Rik threw himself forward over the body of the Lieutenant, slashing with his bayonet at the creature’s leg, catching something with it, feeling cold clammy blood spurt out over his hand.

A human form flung itself forward out of the tunnel mouth, wielding blade in one hand and torch in the other. It was Gunther, filled with righteous rage and ranting about the vengeance of God. The torch flames drove the thing backwards. From somewhere in the chamber, Rik heard the Barbarian shouting; “Eat this you scaly wanker.”

The sound of a heavy blade biting home followed every word.

From out of the powder-smoke a scythe-like claw hurtled straight at Rik. Seeing what it had done to the Lieutenant, he had no desire to let it touch his flesh. He threw himself backward, tripping over Sardec as he did so, and the Ultari’s body passed over his head. He caught sight of its segmented underside, felt what seemed like hundreds of little worm-like streamers tickle his forehead. Moist slime smeared his face. He retched as he rolled out from under it.

A new note entered the demon’s gibbering. It might have been fear or pain or some alien emotion. From behind it, the human voice answered in kind. Was the mage controlling it, Rik wondered? Had he somehow bound it to his service? If so, perhaps the best way to deal with the thing was to kill the wizard.

Gunther went down, screaming in pain. The stinger tail descended towards him but missed. Rik fumbled around. His hand connected with the hilt of a weapon. It was a blade, amazingly light and well made. It seemed to fit into his hand like a glove. He realised the sword in his hand was Sardec’s truesilver blade.

He forced himself upright and lashed out at the beast’s belly where the massive leg entered the armoured torso. The blade slid home with ease, despite the way the thing’s flesh had resisted the Barbarian’s heavier weapon. Cold, greenish blood flowed forth. He struck again, and the creature screamed in real pain. The stinger spasmed and missed Gunther again.

“I knew you could not take this for long,” shouted the Barbarian. “Die, thing of evil! Taste Northlander steel!”

The demon backed up. The scythes flickered back towards Rik but they wavered now, as if the thing was weaker. The blades slashed air near him, striking almost at random. Fortunate it was for him that he was still in a half-crouch or he would have been carved into pieces. He rolled sideways, intending to get past the Ultari and find the sorcerer. As he did so, he realised he had inadvertently put himself out of the demon’s area of attack. He lashed out with the blade once more driving it deep into the beast’s right side.

It let out an ear-splitting scream, and its body flailed like a great whip. The huge rope of muscle struck Rik a glancing blow, and even its reduced force was enough to send him flying across the room and smacking into a wall. Darkness obscured his field of vision for a moment, filled with strange stars. He felt an odd sense of disorientation, and then noticed that the Ultari was retreating from the chamber, slowly and seemingly in great pain, with the Barbarian in ferocious pursuit, screaming challenges and daring the great beast to come back and fight.

Suddenly the Barbarian’s shouts were cut off at a stroke. There was no sound of a blow. Rik wondered if the creature had got him or if it were the wizard. He was almost afraid to find out. He forced his rubbery limbs to move, reeling towards the entrance to the tunnel down which both the beast and his comrade had disappeared. Through the powder smoke and gloom he thought he caught sight of Weasel and gestured for him to follow.

The Barbarian stood frozen, great muscles writhing in his neck, veins bulging in his forehead. Far off down the tunnel, Rik could just see the massive form of the wounded Ultari scuttling away. Rik had a brief vivid impression of more tunnels leading off from this one, the entrance to an endless maze. In front of the Barbarian stood a tall, slim figure robed in purple, a silver mask reflecting the light from beneath a cowl. One claw-like hand clutched a staff; the other was stretched out in an odd gesture. As that hand moved, the Barbarian began to bend forward. Rik was shocked to see that despite his apparent attempts to resist, the Northman was about to fall on his own sword. The elder sign at his throat blazed but was not potent enough to resist the mage’s power.

Rik leapt forward, the truesilver blade light in his hand. The magician sprang backwards with unnatural agility. Laughing, the mage raised his hand and made a curious gesture, speaking words in one of the old tongues. Rik felt nothing although the runes on the blade of the sword suddenly blazed to life, and he felt a slight warmth, even through the hilt. He guessed that at least one of the things they said about truesilver was correct then. It did provide protection against evil magic.

He saw the mage’s eyes go wide, and leaned forward into a long thrust that drove the blade right through his opponent’s body. The mage screamed. His staff clattered from his hands. Rik found himself almost breast to breast with the wizard as he tumbled forward. He twisted the blade as he pulled it free. The mage whimpered as he clutched at the ropes of steaming, streaming intestine that tumbled forth.

Rik struck a blow to his head with the sword’s pommel. He felt the skull crack beneath the blow, and saw shards of blood-drenched bone fly forth, but still the wizard would not die. He was merely forced to his knees. Cursing, Rik hewed his head off with the blade.

The Barbarian came up beside Rik and began to hack the body to bits with his sword. “Bastard thought he had me there, Halfbreed, but I was just lulling him into my trap.”

“Whatever you say,” said Rik looking off into the distance where the Ultari had vanished. He supposed that they could follow it by the trail of slimy blood it had left behind, but he had no intention of doing so unless forced. Footsteps behind him made him turn and he saw Weasel approach holding a torch. He immediately gestured for the Barbarian to stop chopping and bent over the wizard. Rik put his hand on the poacher’s shoulder.

“He’s mine,” he said. “I killed him.”

Weasel looked miffed but the Barbarian nodded. “He killed him.”

“Fair enough,” said Weasel.

“What about the others?” Rik asked.

“Lieutenant’s down but still breathing. So is Gunther. Pigeon caught it. Leon’s unconscious. Severin is dead. The rest of them legged it.”

Rik wondered yet again how so much could have happened without him noticing it. It took some getting used to, even though he had enough experience to know that combat was chaos.

Weasel moved off down the corridor to see what he could find, the torch making his shadow dance behind him. Rik found an amulet on the wizard’s neck, and a number of pouches, some containing powder, inside the remains of his robe. Many of these had been spilled by the Barbarian’s blade. Rik was careful to avoid touching the ripped containers and their contents, while shoving the rest of them into his own pouch.

“Might be jewels there,” said the Barbarian as if regretting his earlier support. “If there is, just remember I did my part.”

“Fair enough,” said Rik. “Let’s see what we can do for the others.”

“I’m no good at stitching. I’ll help Weasel.” Rik shrugged and returned to his unconscious comrades. It looked like Weasel had actually bothered to perform basic first aid on them, which somewhat surprised Rik.

He checked Leon’s wounds first, and saw that the boy had just taken a hard knock to the head, maybe when the Ultari had started flailing about. Astonishingly, his clay pipe lay nearby unbroken. Rik stuck it in Leon’s tunic pocket along with the lucky feather from his hat then inspected the rest of his comrades.

Gunther looked pale and shocked and his breathing was shallow. Severin was dead. Pigeon’s head had been covered with his own tunic, and when he removed it Rik saw why. His skull had been split like a melon and brains had poured out onto the floor. Rik fought down the urge to be sick, made the Elder Sign of Passage over him, and gave his attention to the Lieutenant.

He looked around. There was nobody else present at the moment. Like a bolt sent straight from Shadow it struck him that he could simply put his hand over Sardec’s mouth and suffocate him. The Terrarch was paler even than Gunther and his breathing was shallow already. For a moment, his hand hovered over the Lieutenant’s face. He could take his own personal revenge on the Terrarch race right here, right now, if he wished and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

Nothing, he thought, except that he could not bring himself to kill someone so helpless; nothing except that his soul would go straight to the Shadow; nothing except the fact that somebody might return at any minute. He shook his head and tried to ignore his aches and pains. What was he thinking? He wiped the truesilver blade and returned it to its scabbard, then hunted around for his own weapons. Carefully he bit open a cartridge and loaded and primed the pistol, then set himself down to wait until his companions returned and could help him to move the wounded.

It was not long before Weasel and the Barbarian appeared. “We found something,” said the poacher.