Queen of the Demonweb Pits Read online

  The silvery radiance shone brightly ahead. It came from farther on within the broad, vaulted cavern that opened outward from the tunnel. There was a lapping sound, as though a huge, slow lake washed itself against an unseen shore. Henry shuffled behind the monks, his eyes darting as he tried to keep his head down and make sense out of the caves.

  Fifty of the mewling, screeching chain monks had entered the cave. At the caverns heart lay a great pool of silver liquid—like a quicksilver lake that shone and glowed. The lake gave off a more intense version of the radiance that spilled from the walls. Far more disturbing was the way the quicksilver fluid moved and quivered, as though it were a living entity that breathed.

  Tielle stood on a rock outcrop beside the eerie pool. Her monsters had gathered in a mob that fell quiet as Tielle scathed them with her glance. Henry attached himself to the back of the mob, now so deep in trouble that he felt light-headed. Tielle glared up the side tunnels, making sure that all her minions had gathered, and then planted her fists on her hips and gazed at them all in disdain.

  “You let them get away.”

  The monks cringed a little, and Henry followed suit. Furious, Tielle flicked open her wings.

  “Which of you idiots was holding Escalla and the sphinx in the city? Which one?”

  Half a dozen monks shuffled slightly then lifted their chains, hooting like children trying to mollify their nurse. With a snarl, Tielle flung her hand at the nearest one and spat out a magic spell. Ice darts blasted through the monk. It staggered, blood spraying from its skin. Tielle snapped her fingers, and hooting, joyous chain monks pushed their injured comrade straight out into the pool. The bleeding monk screamed and thrashed as its blood was sucked from it. The wizened corpse sank out of view, while the entire lake suddenly took on a sinister red glow.

  Watching, laughing, and screeching in glee, chain monks leaned over the pool’s edges. Annoyed, Tielle put her hand out and received a drinking horn from one of her minions. The horn sucked up red liquid from the pool, gallon after gallon flowing inside.

  “Evil blood to burn the good. Good blood to burn the evil!” Tielle shook the rod clean. “Right, so now it’s evil water. Which out of you idiots is injured? Hurry!”

  Some of the monks were damaged—cut by the Justicar or with broken limbs or damaged throats. Tielle used a common kitchen ladle to scoop red water from the pool and pour it over the creatures’ wounds. The injuries flashed and disappeared. Knocking out the last drops from the ladle, the faerie rose fluttering into the air, followed by a chain monk bearing her crystal ball. The other monks dispersed, some following after Tielle, and others going off into alcoves at the far side of the cave. The hoots and hollers drifted in the cavern like sounds from a nightmare.

  The lakeshore was quiet. Henry blinked and edged closer, trying to pierce the gloom and see whether he truly was alone. The boy licked his lips and fumbled with his helmet buckles. He pulled off his helm and cradled it carefully in his hands, then walked swiftly over to the ladle Tielle had left lying by the shore. He gave a quick look over the caves, then knelt and scooped the heavy, silky liquid from the pool. He filled his helmet with as much as it would take and then carefully set the ladle aside.

  A scream came from behind him. Henry left his helmet and hurled himself aside. An instant later, a chain smashed down where he had once knelt, shattering limestone. A chain monk stood screeching and yammering, looming over Henry as it whipped its chains at his head.

  Henry dived and rolled, drawing Benelux with the smooth, lightning-fast motion he had learned at the Justicar’s side. He hit the monk beneath one arm and felt Benelux’s edge shear through three whole thicknesses of chain. Chain links and manacles went flying, and one of the creature’s massive arms dealt Henry a blow. He flew backward, falling and skidding on his back. Henry’s hair touched the hideous red liquid of the pool. There was a sucking sensation at his neck, and Henry jerked his head up and away in fright.

  The chain monk threw itself at him, two manacles streaming as it prepared to crash them down onto Henry’s skull. Henry saw his own rusty chains lying an arm’s length away. He dropped Benelux and snatched a chain, whipping it at the monk’s legs as he rolled wildly aside. Flails crashed into the stone beside him; Henry felt his own chain go tight, and he gave a ferocious tug. With a huge crash, the heavy chain monk tumbled down, its legs entangled and its arms flailing wide. Henry planted his boots against the monster in panic, gave a mighty shove, and the monk spilled so that its arm fell in the pool.

  The monk screamed as blood was sucked from its body and into the lake. Lashing its chains, it tried to smash Henry’s skull. The boy shoved it with his boots again, and the monk fell into the silver-red fluid, its mouth open in a silent scream. It fought wildly, draining white before Henry’s horrified eyes.

  Henry panted, numb with shock. An instant later, a chain came flailing from the lake to wrap about his leg. Still alive, the monk dragged Henry to the edge of the pool, dragging the human with an irresistible strength. Clawing at the smooth stone floor, Henry fought to hold on. He saw Benelux lying on the stone. In one lightning move Henry released the floor, snatched Benelux and smashed the magic sword’s blade against the chain. Links parted in a flash of molten steel. The monk catapulted back into the lake, jerking madly as it was sucked dry of blood and died. Scrabbling away from the lake, Henry stared at his enemy and felt his whole skin running with a cold sweat of fear.

  Benelux caroled happily inside his head. Oh well struck! Your technique is coming on quite well.

  “Th-thank you.” Henry’s voice was ragged with shock. He scuttled over to his helmet, saw it still sitting there, hale, hearty, and full of red liquid. The cavern seemed still and quiet. No monks came to investigate the noise. Shaking, Henry took his helmet and ran quickly into the same tunnel he had first come from. He crushed himself flat against a wall and looked behind with dread.

  No one had noticed. No one came. Tielle was off doing whatever it was that maniacs did in their spare time. Carefully cradling his prize, Henry ran up the long tunnel, passing a dozen twists and turns, then came into the old moldering torture chamber once more.

  “Polk! Hssst! Polk, quickly!”

  The badger emerged from beneath a pile of rusted thumbscrews, holding the folded portable hole in his mouth. He dropped the hole and stared at Henry in concern.

  “Son! What’s wrong, son? You look pale!” The badger squinted. “Is that a crystal ball?”

  “Quick—I think I’ve got something. Open the hole!”

  The badger flipped open the hole like a sheet of canvas and laid it on the ground. Henry slithered over the edge and down into the gloomy space within, smelling sickness and fever in the air. He lit a lantern from the sealed box of supplies, then ran across the grass bedding to kneel between Enid and the Justicar.

  Jus was awake, his shaven head sheened with sweat. Henry laid Cinders down beside him and used the hell hound’s fur to steady the helmet full of liquid. The Justicar groped a pale hand over to Henry and held the boy by the arm.

  “H-Henry? What’s… h-happening?”

  “All be fixed soon, sir. All soon.” Henry had scrounged a bandage, then unsheathed Benelux. “Lie still. I think I can fix it all.”

  Henry held Benelux, winced, and bared his arm. Alarmed, the magic sword gave a rapid pulse of light. I say! Steady on! No need to suicide!

  “It’s not suicide!” Henry cut himself on the arm—didn’t do it right and swore as he had to cut himself again. This time the cut ran fast with blood. He held his arm over the helmet full of liquid and let his blood drip and mingle, watching anxiously as the liquid swirled.

  There was a flash, and the fluid in Henry’s helmet turned a faint, pale blue—a healthy color, cool and soothing. Henry stared at it, then took a breath and jammed his little finger into the brew. He kept his eyes shut tight, expecting to have his finger burned to the bone.

  The only sensation was a cool tingle, and a sense of peace and calm
.

  Henry worked fast. He tore away Jus’ bandages, oblivious to the pain it caused, then slopped a measure of the blue liquid over the wound. Blood hissed, and the big man spasmed. The wound closed right before Henry’s eyes, the skin looking healthier by the second. Henry struggled to his feet and ran over to Escalla. He poured blue fluid over her injured leg and side, then over her poor burned wings. The last of the liquid went over Enid’s back, covering her burns and regenerating them. Henry tossed his helmet away and wrapped a bandage about his injured arm.

  None of his patients were awake. They slept, but at least they were sleeping in peace. Wounds knitted with magical speed—infected flesh turning peaceful and healthy once again. Henry leaned against the wall of the portable hole and closed his eyes as relief flooded through his soul.

  “Polk, I think I did it! We can go!”

  The entrance to the hole suddenly closed, sealing out the faint light from above. Henry blinked, then sat down and held on tight as he felt Polk grab the hole and begin to move.

  * * *

  In the torture chamber above, Polk dived into his hiding place and stared. Emerging slowly and relentlessly from the gateway tunnel, there came a savage figure. A tarnished golden eagle helm over a cadaverous skull emerged first, and it was soon followed by the rest of the armored body, lurching on the stump of one foot. The monster paused as it looked carefully over the room. Polk froze, not daring even to breathe as the undead creature sniffed for a scent.

  Distant echoes of laughter came from the caverns, and Recca turned. His blood-red sword glowed in the gloom, and the apparition was gone. Polk unfolded the hole and let Henry emerge. The two of them crept to the tunnel mouth and stared after the undead monster.

  Polk and Henry fled back through the magic gate. Their last strand of gold hair flashed, and an instant later they were running out among the trees. A cold dawn was creeping over the Flanaess, bringing with it the distant smells of blazing homes.

  “Fetch! Fetch the stick!” Escalla’s voice bubbled, bright and gay. Morning sun streamed across Jus’ eyes as he lay on something soft. “Come on! Just try!”

  Cinders can’t run.

  “So fly!”

  Cinders can’t fly.

  “Sure you can! Just jump and forget to come down.” Escalla threw another stick. “So-o-o-o… fetch!”

  The stick thudded onto bare soil somewhere to Jus’ left. He became aware of a little bottom—a rather pert and silky one—perched on his stomach. He opened one eye and cautiously felt his sword wound, but he found nothing but his own smooth skin.

  Then he felt other smooth skin. Jus lifted his head and saw Escalla—unblemished and perfect—sitting on him in her leggings, long gloves, and little skirt. She rested one hand on his hairy chest and looked down at him with a smile.

  “Hey, J-man!”

  “Hello.” The Justicar levered himself up into a sitting position, moving cautiously, but finding no pain. “You look healed.”

  “All better.” Escalla stood and turned a pirouette. “See? No one touches the faerie!” She bowed, her eyes directing Jus’ gaze off to one side. “The kid does good work.”

  They both looked over at Henry. The party sat in a dense thicket of brush—a place as deliberately nondescript as the Justicar could ever have wanted. A little way away, Henry sat beside Enid, helping the freckled sphinx to plait and bead her hair. Henry saw that Jus was awake, and he blushed as he gave the man a wave, turning back to his job while Enid flexed her claws and purred.

  Cinders lay beside Jus on the dirt, his fur brushed and a few new rents in his hide. As he saw Jus, Cinders drummed his tail against the ground.

  Hello!

  “Cinders, you helped Henry?”

  Cinders help! Fun! Went to where had faerie lives and wore big disguise!

  “Henry did good.” Escalla settled herself in the crook of Jus’ arm, sitting easily and lovingly against his chest. “Seems he and Polk had an adventure.”

  “We’ll let Henry tell it.” The Justicar rubbed his eyes. “It’ll make him feel ten feet tall.”

  Escalla turned a little smile. “We’ll let him tell it with Enid there to hang on every word.”

  In the end, Henry told the story three times, end to end—once with Polk beside him supplying embellishments and once in private with Jus and Escalla, filling in the concise details. Finally, he told it again in private to a wide-eyed, admiring Enid, who did indeed hang on every word.

  The party kept on the move but stopped for frequent rests. Jus felt hale and hearty, perfectly unscratched. He marched in silent meditation, fixing spells in his mind. Perched on his shoulders, Escalla flipped through pages of her spellbooks doing exactly the same. She wore reading glasses that made her look deliciously prim—an image at odds with her leather skirt and cleavage line. As the party descended a ridge, she lowered her glasses down her little nose.

  “Give me another five minutes, and I’ll have a spell up to block the crystal ball. That lets us go on the offensive.”

  His unloaded crossbow slung, Henry looked back at the faerie. “We’re going on the offensive?”

  Ob, indeed. Having insisted on returning to Jus’ sword belt, Benelux glowed with self-satisfaction. Offensive action is the only heroic course. Sir Polk would clearly agree.

  “What? Oh, sure!” Polk waddled along. “That’s the heroic thing to do! The tactical thing. We turn on the hand that bit us!”

  Escalla glared at Polk and snapped her spellbook shut. “To Baator with that! I’m getting Tielle, tattooing her arse red, and chucking her in a cage of crazed baboons! Then I’m gonna sink her neck-deep in a pond full of those little tropical fish that have a thing for the urethral tract!” Escalla tugged her long black gloves. “No one touches the faerie!”

  Everyone was staring at her. Escalla gave a big wave of her hands.

  “Oh, come on! What? Just because I’m a little blonde faerie, I have to be nice?”

  She jumped down, took a quick look at the horizon, and unshipped her frost wand from her back. Using it as a stick, she began drawing glowing symbols in mid air.

  “Right. Scrying shield coming up! Any sign of Tielle or our skeletal friend?”

  Cinders waggled his ears and replied, No sniff! No hear!

  “Well, when Tielle sees this spell, she’ll come running!”

  Jus stood with his sword drawn, the blade turning between his fingers as he stared intently at the scrub. He was not watching for chain monks and a faerie but for something far more deadly. Escalla, circling slowly, worked quickly and professionally behind him. She opened her hands, the spell molding between her palms, and the glyphs she had drawn into the empty air flashed with power. Magic rippled away from her like a breeze, and Escalla opened her eyes and clapped her hands.

  “Right! Go!”

  Jus, Polk, and Henry dived into the portable hole. Escalla folded up the hole and stuffed the parcel under one arm as she swung up behind Enid’s neck. She held on tight to Enid as the big sphinx flipped open her wings, gathered, and sprang powerfully up into the sky. Enid flew with big heavy beats of her wings, shoving through the air with astounding speed. Escalla clung on tight and whooped for joy. Enid was always wonderful fun to take for a fly.

  Enid stayed low, weaving below the treetops as she flew for miles and miles. Any pursuers would have lost sight of her in a second. Escalla fought back Enid’s billowing nest of hair braids. She managed to gain a forward view just as Enid folded sideways and dived like a falcon straight down into a river chasm. The faerie cried, half cheer and half screech of fright as Enid plummeted three hundred feet, caught herself mere inches above a river torrent, and then shot like an arrow above river rapids that jetted, foamed, and raged.

  Choosing her landing place carefully, Enid landed on a rocky island in the middle of violent rapids, with twenty yards of savage white water to every side. There was timber for a fire, brush and boulders to hide in, and a clear view for miles both upstream and down. Ten miles fr
om where she had first taken to the air, the sphinx settled down on all four big furry feet, then folded up her wings. Escalla flew up and shook out the portable hole, then threw it down onto the ground.

  Peeking from the hole came Jus, who flowed out of the depths like a vast black panther with Cinders grinning from his helm. Polk was boosted up by Henry. The group nested amongst the boulders and heaved a collective sigh. Surrounded by wild rapids and by yards of thick, hard stone, there was a small sense of security.

  They had no rations—no food other than a bag of flour that had been sealed up inside the equipment box in the portable hole. Cinders set a fire going, and thin pancakes were made. While they cooked, Jus found a pine tree that was leaking sap, and he brought branches of it for Cinders to suck. The hell hound lay on a rock, stuffing pinecones in his mouth and complaining bitterly about the taste, while Henry fried pancakes carefully one by one.

  They ate, with the lion’s share going to Enid. Still with most of his attention on keeping guard, the Justicar finally broke the silence.

  “We got our arses kicked.”

  It was an uncomfortable thought. Tielle had put them on the run with a single blow. The Justicar would have been killed without the fast rescue work performed by Henry, Polk, and Cinders.

  The group sat, tearing at the unpalatable pancakes, while the river rapids threw up a numbing shield of noise.

  Jus levered up the soil beneath their little fire and placed sticks where they could bake into charcoal: Cinders needed feeding, and his fire-breath was vital. Henry passed Jus a bundle of firewood then squatted at his side.

  “Sir? Who was that… that thing?” Henry nervously fiddled with his hands. “You knew it. You’d fought against it before….”

  “I fought for it before.”

  Jus knocked out Cinders’ brush and curry-comb. Escalla sat on his knee, resting her face against his shoulder as the big man began brushing Cinders. The Justicar stared at Cinders’ jet-black pelt as he worked.