This time the demon teleported behind her. Its tail lashed out, coiling around the cleric’s torso like a whip. Then it squeezed.
“To—” Marasa grunted as the air was forced from her lungs.
The demon squeezed.
Roaring, Foesmasher slashed at the demon’s tail with his sword. Once again, the tendrils of darkness blocked the weapon and slithered up it. This time, they sent Foesmasher staggering. He stumbled back on wobbly legs then fell.
Marasa struggled to draw air into her lungs, to finish her spell.
The demon squeezed tighter, hissing.
Arvin opened his suddenly dry mouth, closed it, opened it again, and—fighting down the fear that washed through him in chilling waves—at last found his voice. “Hey, demon!” he shouted. He reached down for the ice dagger that was still sheathed in his boot. He watched the tendrils of darkness that coiled around the demon as they shifted, seeking a pattern. “I’m the one you were supposed to kill.”
He whipped his hand forward, throwing the dagger. Swift as thought, it flew toward the demon and caught it square in the chest. Cold exploded outward from the weapon, etching crackling lines of frost across the demon’s bare skin.
The demon glanced down at the dagger that had buried itself to the hilt between its breasts. It laughed and plucked it out. “A pinprick,” it rumbled. It snapped the blade in two and tossed the pieces aside. Then its eyes met Arvin’s. “But even pinpricks annoy me.”
Suddenly releasing Marasa, the demon slithered forward.
Marasa sagged, facedown, onto the floor.
Terrified, Arvin backed away from the approaching demon. Then he turned and ran. Leaping over the mangled remains of the soldiers, he sprinted out through the adjoining room and into the hall. Behind him, he heard the hiss of scales on stone. Soldiers ran toward him up the hall; he dodged around them, shouting at them to get out of the way. Metal clashed against metal and wet thunks sounded as the soldiers rushed up to attack the demon—and died. Arvin ran past the council chamber, past other rooms in which servants startled then screamed as they saw what was slithering after him, and past the practice hall.
As he ran, he manifested a sending. The image of Marasa formed in his mind’s eye. She was being helped to her feet by someone Arvin couldn’t see. She was shaky and unsteady—but alive. She startled as Arvin’s face appeared in her mind.
I’m leading the demon to the chapel, Arvin sent, praying that the demon wasn’t also capable of reading thoughts. Get Foesmasher to teleport you there. I’ll keep it busy until you can banish it.
Arvin, she croaked. Even her mental voice sounded awful; absorbing Glisena’s hurts had taken its toll. I’ll come as quickly as I can.
“Little mouse,” the demon taunted from behind Arvin. “I can smell your fear. What a tasty little morsel you will be.”
A blade swished through the air just over Arvin’s head. A second blade thunked into the doorframe next to him as he pelted into the chapel. He raced for the gauntlet at the far end of the room, his breathing ragged and heart pounding. Leaping onto the dais, he slapped both palms against the gauntlet. He skittered around behind it, both hands still on the polished silver, placing the statue between himself and the demon.
The demon halted at the edge of the dais. Lazily regarding him through slit eyes, it coiled its scaly tail under itself. “Little morsel,” it hissed. “Come down from there.”
“Make me,” he said, staring defiantly into its eyes. The demon bared its teeth, hissing. Its incisors were long and curved, like a snake’s. Arvin wondered if they held venom.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway: Marasa? The demon’s head started to turn.
One palm still pressed tight to the gauntlet, Arvin plunged his other hand into his pocket and found the monkey’s fist. “Here,” he said to the demon, hurling the knot of twine. “Catch.”
Even as the monkey’s fist unknotted, the demon raised its swords. Six blades flashed through the air, chopping the magical twine to pieces. The frayed remains fell at its feet. The demon cocked its head then frowned. “I grow weary of this.”
“So do I,” Arvin said in a loud voice, hoping to cover the sound of footsteps in the hall. Marasa would have a better chance if she was able to surprise the demon. She could banish it before it got a chance to teleport out of the spell’s path.
“But I’ve got one more trick up my sleeve,” Arvin bluffed. “One that’s bound to—”
He faltered as he saw who was coming down the hall. Not Marasa, as he had desperately hoped, but Karrell.
“Arvin!” she called. “What is happening? Are you—” She jerked to a halt just inside the room as she saw the demon. Her eyes widened.
The demon turned.
Karrell immediately began to cast a spell, but even as she raised her hands, the demon lashed out with one of its swords. Karrell twisted out of its path, but the blade caught her raised right hand. Blood sprayed and fingers flew to the floor. Karrell gasped and clutched her wounded hand.
