Den of thieves

Chapter Ninety-Three

“Croy! Croy!” Malden called, racing around the side of the house where the debris was not so thick. He jumped onto a fallen rafter beam and leapt into a drift of plaster dust that billowed up around him like a cloud. He managed to sidestep a pile of broken glass but still came down hard on a plank of wood that shifted under him and sent him sprawling forward.

Behind him the demon’s skull heads bit at the air. It was almost upon him.

“Croy! Kill it!” he screamed as he came around to the front of the house, where the rose window had fallen in a million shards of colored glass.

He took in the scene in an instant, though he liked little of it. Bikker looked dead, which was a good thing, and Croy was still holding his sword. The knight was sitting down in the grass, however, with his knees up to his chest, and he looked as pale as a sheet. Had the two fools killed each other?

Cythera and Hazoth were there, too. Both of them were staring at the pile of rubble that had been their home. They seemed too paralyzed by surprise to react.

“Demon!” Malden shouted, his feet slapping against the grass. “Croy!”

He raced up to the knight and then jumped over Croy’s head. The demon was right behind him, snatching at his heels with one clawed foot.

Ghostcutter was pointed at the sky, suddenly. Croy did not rise, or call out a threat, or even shift from where he sat, but his sword pointed upward. The demon couldn’t see it, having no eyes, and as the blade bit into its belly, at first it seemed not even to notice.

Then the cold iron blade pierced it through, and the point came out through the demon’s back. It fell on Croy hard enough to crush any man, and scratched at the ground with every one of its mismatched legs, but it couldn’t seem to get free.

Cythera shouted for Croy, but the knight was completely covered by the demon’s body. If he heard her, he could make no reply.

“Malden, he was already gravely wounded-if we don’t get him out of there soon he’ll smother,” she said, beseeching the thief.

Malden started to shrug. What could he do? His bodkin was useless against the thing. He was no Ancient Blade to fight a demon. But then He saw Acidtongue on the ground next to Bikker’s body. Like Ghostcutter, it was made for fighting demons. Malden grabbed it and found that he could barely lift it. He’d never used a sword in his life and realized instantly that it wasn’t just a matter of swinging it around like a stick.

But then drops of vitriol appeared along the blade’s length like sweat. Grabbing the hilt with both hands, Malden rushed toward the demon, holding the sword straight out from his body. He jabbed it into the demon’s back and leaned on the pommel until it sank deep into the demon’s vitals.

The skull heads reared up and screamed at the stars as the demon redoubled its thrashing. Malden let go of the sword’s hilt then and staggered back, trying to get clear of its flailing legs.

Eventually it died, and lay still. Its flesh fumed and liquefied until its bones stuck up through its raw musculature. Its claws curled and withered like paper in a fire. Soon it was no more than wisps of foul-smelling smoke and a pool of vile liquid. Underneath its remains, Croy struggled to pull Ghostcutter free of the infernal thing’s rib cage.

Malden stared at the beast in utter incomprehension. He couldn’t believe what he had just done. He had killed a demon. He-the puny thief, who had never even cut a human being before-had killed. Of course, it had been pinned and immobile, and- But he had killed it Malden started to whoop in joy. But then an invisible hand grasped his heart and began to squeeze.

“My son… my house,” Hazoth said. “You destroyed my house.”

Malden dropped to the ground, unable to move a muscle. The sorcerer leaned over him.

“I was going to allow you a quick death, rodent,” the sorcerer said. “No more.”