They barely made it through the gap, the ghost carriage’s rear stand panel brushing the horse’s flank as the vehicle moved backwards just a hair too slowly to cut them off. The horse whinnied at the touch, and it cost Ravagin a precious second to get the animal back under firm control. A scraping of wheels on stones came from behind, and he threw a quick glance over his shoulder.
The carriage had swung around and was pursuing him.
Ravagin turned back to face forward, cursing under his breath. The grassland lying between village and forest was visible now, two or three streets ahead. If he could hang onto his lead long enough, the carriage’s wheels would be at a disadvantage out in the grass—
A whoosh from his right was his only warning; and as he reflexively ducked something large shot past his head.
For a single, horrible second he thought he’d misjudged distance and speed and that the demon-possessed troll was upon him. But it wasn’t a sky-plane that smashed with shattering force into the buildings across the street, but a heavy-looking metal ball with large protruding spikes. Throwing a glance to his right, Ravagin was just in time to see the catapult rolling down the side street toward him fire a second missile.
He ducked again as this ball struck the corner of a building and ricocheted back toward the ghost carriage behind. Damn bastard demon, he thought viciously, throat tight with the sinking realization that Astaroth had been smarter than he’d ever expected the demon to be. Belatedly, Ravagin remembered now the ease with which the Forge Beast at the Darcane Forest way house had been taken over to make a driving fan for the fire he’d started. It was now painfully obvious that Astaroth had learned far more about Shamsheer’s “magic” than Ravagin had realized … and had prepared his own special version of that magic to defend his position here.
Behind Ravagin, the rumble of the carriage was growing louder. Digging his heels into his horse’s flanks, Ravagin urged it into an extra burst of speed. One more cross street to pass …
And as he galloped toward it, a dozen alien machines rolled in from both directions.
Automated tumbleweeds, was Ravagin’s immediate impression of the things. Roughly spherical in shape, perhaps a meter in diameter, they looked like they’d been constructed entirely of tangled wires and twisted tubes. Like a waste dealer’s castofoffs—which was, he thought grimly, probably exactly what the demon had intended them to look like. Harmless junk, not worth a second look by anyone …
It took the tumbleweeds bare seconds to get into final position, lined up in a solid row completely blocking the street, and as Ravagin galloped toward them he saw that each machine had three to five gently waving tendrils rising out from somewhere in its interior. Like faint echoes of the prehensile grabbing action of Darcane Forest’s Berands fronds.
Or perhaps of scorpion glove whips …
Ravagin gritted his teeth. He had no choice at all: it was either make it over that barrier or else face the ghost carriage behind him and the even deadlier troll still on its way. And the only way to get his horse’s legs past those waving tendrils would be to let them grab something else.
Jamming the reins into the crook of his left elbow, he reached over to his right wrist. The timing on this was going to be tight, with no margin for error. Eyes on the tumbleweeds, he made a quick calculation of the distance, adjusted his horse’s stride for the jump. The barrier was seven meters ahead now; six; four—
And the scorpion glove whip lashed out and down, grazing the tops of the two tumbleweeds directly ahead.
The tendrils were fast, all right. Before Ravagin had even a chance to withdraw it, they had the whip thoroughly entangled. The end vanished into the center of one of the tumbleweeds, and abruptly the slack in the whip disappeared as something in the tumbleweed’s center began reeling it in. Clenching his jaw, Ravagin fought for balance against the pull. The horse reached its take-off point, Ravagin kicked him into the jump—
And as they sailed unhindered over the barrier Ravagin tore open the wrist band holding the scorpion glove onto his right hand. With one final tug that threatened to pull him bodily off his mount, the glove was yanked off.
From behind came another scream of rage … of rage, but with an underlying coloring of frustration. Licking his lips, Ravagin took a ragged breath and permitted himself a grim smile. The edge of Horma flashed by, and a second later he was driving hard across open grass toward the forest beyond. From the sound of that scream the troll and sky-plane were still too far behind him to catch up before he reached the forest. He was going to make it …
Unless it occurred to Astaroth to put the sky-plane down within crossbow range of Ravagin’s back. The smile vanished from Ravagin’s lips, and he hunched down over the horse’s neck, feeling the skin tightening between his shoulderblades.
But for once, the demon missed a bet. The sky-plane chased Ravagin right up to the edge of the forest, even attempting to force its way through the branches until its increasingly reduced speed seemed to finally persuade Astaroth that that approach wasn’t going to work. The noise of it backing out through that same tangle of branches came as Ravagin, fighting hard to keep up his speed without running into a tree, shot on ahead. There was another scream—
And then there was silence.
Licking his lips, Ravagin fought the shaking in his hands and settled down for the long ride ahead. The die was cast; and in many ways what happened now was totally out of his hands. Riding as fast as a troll could hope to chase him on foot, with the forest’s canopy sealing him off from any kind of aerial attack or landing, he was virtually assured of reaching the Tunnel some eighty-five kilometers away. The only question remaining was whether or not Astaroth would realize that his only hope of stopping Ravagin was to fly on ahead and wait for him at the Tunnel.
It was almost certain that he would.
Chapter 45
IT WAS NEARLY SUNDOWN when Ravagin finally reached the clearing surrounding the Tunnel … to find the demon/troll waiting there for him.
“You have come,” the mechanical voice boomed out as Ravagin cautiously approached the last line of trees on foot. “I have grown weary waiting for you.”
“Translation: you hoped the forest animals would take care of me for you?” Ravagin called. The demon/troll was standing directly in front of the Tunnel’s entrance, its feet half buried in an unusually thick leaf cover that seemed to have filled much of that part of the clearing. Cautiously, Ravagin eased around one tree, made for a second—
The demon/troll’s hand snapped up, and a crossbow bolt sizzled past Ravagin’s ear.
With a lunge, he dived into cover. That one had been far too close for comfort … “Still having trouble handling the auto-fire circuits, I see,” he said, throwing a quick look around the tree. The demon/troll was making no attempt to move in. “Your dumb little parasite spirits had that same problem. I assumed a full-fledged demon would do somewhat better.”
“Taunt me while you may,” Astaroth retorted. “Your death is close and certain. I will kill you, and when the female human returns I will kill her, as well.”
“Her name is Danae,” Ravagin said, feeling sweat breaking out on his forehead as he studied the area all around him in the fading light. Hart had said he would blaze the tree where the trigger was set, but so far there was no sign of any such mark. “Danae. I’d think you’d pay more attention to human names. Especially given how important your spirit names are to you. Good thing I know yours now, isn’t it?”
A second crossbow bolt thudded into Ravagin’s tree—a wasted shot, clearly fired in pure anger. If the troll had been carrying the usual complement of four sharp and two blunted stun bolts when Astaroth took it over, that meant two killing shots left. Getting him to expend those shots would make things a hell of lot safer … “Do I take it you’re sensitive about your name, then?” he called. “Or are you just mad about how easily we pitiful humans can use those names for our own purposes?”
He held his breath; but the demon had
apparently regained his temper and no shot was fired. “You cannot trick me into coming into the woods after you,” Astaroth snarled. “You may know my name, but neither Danae nor Gartanis do, and without it they will have no true power over me. I will not risk you passing me in the gloom of night to deliver that knowledge to them. I will wait for you here.”
Translation, Ravagin thought, he really is having trouble with the troll sensor circuitry. Otherwise there wouldn’t be a chance of me sneaking by him whether he came out here or not. Which was definitely to Ravagin’s advantage; or it would be if and when he ever found Hart’s damn blazed tree. Gritting his teeth, he gave the area another careful scan; and then, on sudden impulse, looked above him.
There, two meters up the trunk of his tree, was a neat cut.
He smiled tightly. Good old Hart; reading Ravagin’s own tactical thoughts to the point of even anticipating the direction and path he’d choose to approach the clearing. Fumbling at his belt, Ravagin pulled out the watchblade and explored beneath the leaves at the base of the trunk with his free hand. There it was: the hard ridge of a thin rope circling the tree. He eased an eye around the trunk to confirm that Astaroth was indeed still standing in front of the Tunnel. Taking a deep breath, he said a quick prayer for Hart’s skill and slashed the edge of the watchblade into the cord—
From Ravagin’s right came the crackle of breaking branches as a tree a dozen meters into the forest was abruptly released from its bindings and snapped back toward the vertical; and at the same instant, the ground beneath the demon/troll erupted in a flurry of dead leaves as the fishing net Hart had so carefully laid out there was yanked from its concealment. Leaning out from behind his tree, Ravagin watched as the demon/troll, firmly caught in the net, was hauled up and out into the nearby trees.
And to see a crossbow bolt thud into the ground barely a meter away from him.
He jumped, swallowing hard at the sudden reminder that even with only partial control of the troll, Astaroth was a horribly deadly opponent. Gathering his legs under him, he sprinted for the Tunnel, shivering as the demon’s scream of rage filtered down amid the crash of branches marking the end of the demon/troll’s passage. Astaroth wouldn’t be trapped for long, unfortunately—the troll’s hands were strong enough by themselves to tear the net if there was no knife within easy reach. Within minutes, maybe even seconds, the demon/troll would be after him again … and Astaroth still had one lethal crossbow bolt left.
That last bolt remained unfired as Ravagin made it across the clearing to the relative safety of the Tunnel. Activating his firefly ring, he ran as quickly as the sloping floor and uncertain footing permitted. Barely halfway to the curved section the sudden sound of more breaking branches reached him. Swearing under his breath, he tried to pick up his pace … and just as he reached the curve and started around it there was a faint twang from far behind him and a crossbow bolt whistled past him to ricochet from the wall. Clamping his teeth hard, he kept running, resisting the impulse to shut down the firefly. With the curve between him and the demon/troll, darkness wouldn’t give him any more protection and would only slow him down in the race ahead.
And it was going to be a race. Ravagin had seen trolls run before, and it was only the fact that the curved path slowed both of them down that gave him any chance at all of beating the machine to the telefold. Even with that, even with his head start and Astaroth’s limited control over the troll machinery, it was going to be close. If Danae wasn’t ready …
Another bolt ricocheted around the corner behind him, jarring him out of his thoughts. Astaroth, shooting blind with—Ravagin saw—one of the blunted stun bolts. Presumably the last one had been the other stun bolt, which meant he was saving his remaining sharp one for last. For right before the telefold.
Another fifty meters to go. The demon/troll’s heavy footsteps could be heard now, their echoes mixing with those of Ravagin’s to fill the Tunnel with rolling thunder. A few more seconds. The center of Ravagin’s back itched with the thought of that last crossbow bolt—his breathing sounded ragged in his ears above the pounding of his heart—almost there—
He came around the last part of the curve … and skidded to a halt at the sight that greeted him.
Danae was waiting for him, all right. Her nude body lay stretched out against the wall directly ahead of him, her eyes closed in the firefly’s light, a dark bruise almost visibly forming beneath her right ear. A half dozen meters further ahead, facing him from the Karyx side of the telefold—
“Astaroth,” Ravagin gasped, dropping down beside Danae, shielding her with his body from whatever was to come. “His name … is Astaroth.”
“Understood,” Hart said, glacially calm. “I’m ready.” The tone of the thudding footsteps behind Ravagin suddenly changed, and he twisted his head around to see the demon/troll come into sight, crossbow raised and tracking—
“Hakleb—!” Hart shouted.
In that instant Astaroth must have realized what was about to happen. The demon/troll shifted its aim, instinctively firing its last bolt at this new and unexpected threat. Reflexively, Hart ducked as the bolt came at him—and came at him, and came at him, covering the teleport’s five meters over and over again until it struck the floor and finally lay still.
“—Astaroth—”
The demon screamed, one last welling up of hatred and fury. And perhaps of fear, for he knew now he was defeated, and Ravagin could only imagine what punishment the fourth world would order for that failure.
“—mirraim!”
And with the last part of the invocation spell Astaroth’s wail suddenly changed its position, shifting in an instant from the troll behind Ravagin to the Karyx side of the telefold.
From Hart’s side of the telefold. “Come on—move it!” Ravagin shouted at the other.
Hart needed no urging … but even as he leaped toward the telefold and the safety of Shamsheer an explosion of green flame abruptly enveloped his body. He gasped with pain, the sound mixing with the demon’s own howling to set Ravagin’s teeth on edge. A second later Hart was through the telefold; and as the corona vanished he collapsed to the ground in a smoking heap.
Ravagin was at his side in an instant. “Hart!” he snapped, fingers probing for the other’s pulse. Weak, rapid, thready … “Come on, Hart, come on. You’re safe now. Hang on—you can make it.”
Slowly, the other opened his eyes. “The demon,” he said with some effort. “Is he …?”
“It worked,” Ravagin assured him. “Exactly the way we thought it would. Of course he’s across—who the hell do you think attacked you?”
“And … Ms. mal … ce—”
“Danae’s fine,” he sighed. “You didn’t hit her all that hard. For God’s sake, Hart—”
He broke off, but Hart answered the unasked question anyway. “She wanted to do it,” he whispered. “She insisted on. … taking the same risk … you were taking. I … couldn’t let her.”
Ravagin gritted his teeth. “Danae!” he shouted, turning his head around. “Wake up, Danae—come on, damn it, I need you.”
“Don’t bother with me,” Hart said, fingers clutching at Ravagin’s sleeve. “The shock alone … just get her out … and back home. Just … leave me here.”
“The hell I will,” Ravagin growled. “With air transport to a Dreya’s Womb only a prayer stick call away? Sit tight, Hart—I’m going to go out a ways and call a sky-plane.”
“Ravagin—”
“No argument, damn it. Just think of it as part of my job.”
He wasn’t sure … but as he stood up to go he thought he saw the faintest trace of a smile on the other’s lips.
Chapter 46
IT SEEMED FITTING, SOMEHOW, for them to meet at the Double Imperial for their quiet celebration. Danae was late, and as she was led to the table she saw Ravagin was already there. “Sorry,” she said as the maitre d’ slid her chair in. “I stayed longer than I’d planned to at the hospital.”
“No probl
em,” Ravagin said, his eyes burning into hers. “How is he?”
She shook her head, feeling her throat tighten with the burden of memories. “They’ve found some more neural damage they have to try and track down. The right side of his face, this time. Aside from that … well, he’s conscious and as calm as ever and … not in too much pain …” She broke off, blinking against sudden tears.
Ravagin nodded heavily. “Anything come of the suggestion that the doctors take him into Shamsheer and see if the Dreya’s Wombs can do anything more for him?”
“They’re afraid to move him,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Especially since they can’t take any support gear across with them.” She took a deep breath. “I almost wish—”
She broke off, but too late, and she winced at the look of pain that appeared on Ravagin’s face. “I’m sorry, Danae,” he said in a low voice. “There just wasn’t any way to get to Saban’s circuit diagrams in time. I don’t know—maybe I should have tried—”
“Hey,” she cut him off softly, reaching across the table to grip his hand. “It’s all right—really it is. Besides, what would we have told people when they asked us how we did it?” But even as she spoke, the thought of the diagrams rose, siren-like, before her. Perhaps if Ravagin could just have brought one of them out for her to memorize … With a supreme effort of will, she crushed the thought back down. “No, it’s better this way,” she sighed. “You saw what happened to Saban; those diagrams were his own private addiction. Even with just a taste of it—you think we could have held out against the temptation to go back and get just a little more? Especially since we know how to do it?”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He took a deep breath. “You’re right. Let’s get the hell off the subject before we blow Hart’s whole sacrifice out of the water and replace Saban with one of us.”