back its massive right fist it unleashed a blow that could shatter a bull-hide shield. Amirantha imagined that he felt the shock from it travel through the air to strike him. Then the demon struck the wards even harder, and Amirantha raised his hand to reinforce the barrier with even more power. To his astonishment, this time he could feel the demon’s energy translated into a blow that ran up his arm. He stepped back, until he stood hard against the wall. ‘What do I do now?’ he muttered absently.
Again the demon hurled itself at the barrier and Amirantha, Warlock of the Satumbria, decided it was going to get through. Pushing aside a sudden urge to laugh – the unexpected and dangerous often affected him this way – he drew another object from his belt pouch and smashed it on the floor.
A noxious gas erupted from its ruin and as it spread, Amirantha fled from the deep cave in which he had conjured the monster. It was a summoning area he had especially prepared for this ritual, protected by multiple wards and other safeguards he had erected against such a mishap. He hurried along a narrow tunnel, muttering, ‘What next?’
Reaching a large open cavern, closer to the entrance of the stone warren, he cursed himself for a fool. All of his most powerful items had been stored in the smaller cave. He had been so surprised by the conjuration, that he had left them on the floor. He had thought himself ready for any eventuality surrounding demon summoning; it never occurred to him that one he hadn’t summoned might appear unexpectedly.
Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he stopped. He had at least stored a lantern here; although such forethought had simply been intended to indicate the way out, rather than in anticipation that he might be forced to flee for his life, having abandoned his other lantern. Muttering to himself, he said, ‘Sometimes I wish I was as clever as I claim to be.’
Amirantha turned back towards the tunnel, realizing that if he didn’t stop the demon here, the creature would be free to choose from exits. Not only would that be bad for anyone living within the demon’s reach, almost ten thousand people by the last census, it would also prove disastrous for Amirantha’s reputation.
The Governor of Lanada waited for him near a particular cave mouth, accompanied by a sizeable retinue of soldiers, but nothing that could stop this monster should it come their way. Not only would the Maharajah’s Court look down upon an itinerant Warlock responsible for the disembowelment of a regional governor, he was almost certainly not going to be paid for performing this banishment.
Pulling a long wand of ash from his belt, the Warlock readied himself. The device had been commissioned from the finest wand maker in the Kingdom of Muboya, and was capable of seven effective theatrical stunts, each designed to illicit ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of wonder from onlookers. But it also possessed four very powerful enchantments that could inflict significant damage should the need arise. Amirantha was fairly certain the need had arisen.
He was greeted by the stench of the gas moving through the corridor from the summoning cave. It was designed to weaken and eventually incapacitate demons, and was not at all pleasant for humans to inhale. He knew that probably meant the demon was through the wards and coming towards him. Then Amirantha winced.
It wasn’t the odour that made him shudder, but a sudden cave-rattling sound; a combination of tones and vibrations that made his heart jump and cringe at the same time. The angry shriek made his skin crawl, as if he were listening to a smith sharpen a sword on a turning wheel. If nothing else, the Governor of Lanada was receiving a better performance than the one Amirantha had originally planned for him.
Then the demon came straight at him.
A voice from behind Amirantha said, ‘Need any help?’
‘It would be appreciated,’ the Warlock said to Brandos. His companion had been waiting outside the cave mouth, reinforcement for eventualities such as this, and to make sure that the Governor became curious enough to send in his guards to ‘help’ the Warlock banish the demon.
Amirantha gripped his ornately carved wand and spoke a single word in a language known to very few men. A searing burst of heat washed over the two men as a massive fireball exploded away from them through the tunnel, sweeping over the demon and forcing it back.
‘I’m going to need a few moments to banish it.’
The old fighter was still powerful, though nearing fifty years of age, and he had more experience in confronting demonic opponents than he wished for. This creature looked as if it might be the most dangerous he had faced so far. ‘Where are the rest of your toys?’
‘Back in the summoning cave.’
‘In the cave?’
‘Yes,’ said Amirantha quietly. ‘I realized that myself, just a moment ago.’
‘Well then, we’ll have to do this the difficult way, won’t we?’ He wore a buckler, a small round shield, on his left arm, and he pulled a broadsword from its scabbard that hung from his hip. ‘It’s times like this I wish I had taken up baking.’
Brandos knew he did not need to defeat the demon, only delay it long enough for Amirantha to banish it back to the demon realm. It was only a matter of gaining a minute or two, but the old fighter knew that even a few seconds could be a very long time. ‘Let’s go in before it comes back here. I don’t welcome trying to keep it from those side tunnels. Best to keep it confined.’
Amirantha stayed behind his friend as Brandos moved up the tunnel, stopping only a few yards from where the demon had retreated. The stench of the gas filling the cave was nearly overwhelming, but it had the desired effect. The demon approached them cautiously, halted and then stood motionless for a moment, regarding the two humans.
Then it opened its mouth and issued sounds; not the inarticulate sounds of rage and anger, for they seemed meaningful, with rhythm and distinct pronunciation.
Brandos said, ‘Is it casting a spell?’
Amirantha hesitated, his curiosity overwhelming his need to rid this realm of the demonic visitor. He listened for only an instant before he realized that Brandos was correct: the demon was a spell caster!
‘We should interrupt that, I think,’ said Amirantha. He uttered a single word, another cantrip release he had prepared for such dangerous encounters. The word acted as a mystic placeholder for a long, complicated spell, and its utterance instantly released the full force of the enchantment. As a result, the raging demon was suddenly unable to speak. The efficacy of the spell was dependent on several factors, but most importantly upon how powerful the targeted magic user was compared to Amirantha. The average village enchanter could be rendered silent until Amirantha chose to lift the spell. A powerful magician would be silenced only for a minute or two. A more powerful magician could shrug off the spell with little effort. This demon was an unknown quantity.
Amirantha began the spell of banishment and was only halfway through the incantation when the demon again found its voice, and resumed its own incantation.
‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Brandos as he darted forward, starting a slow, looping overhand strike at the demon’s head; at the last moment, he moved his blade, dropped to one knee and unleashed the blow upon the demon’s left leg. Shock ran up his arm as if he had struck the trunk of a massive tree, but even so, the demon howled in pain and retreated back up the tunnel, its spell casting interrupted. The creature was injured and it knelt for a moment, nursing its leg. Years before, Amirantha had paid a magician in Maharta to enchant the sword, to inflict additional pain on demons. Now he wished that he had paid for the spell to cause real injury, instead of a mere distraction.
As
