“Think we should take cover?” Incarnadine asked when the smoke and dust had cleared.
“Not yet. I can’t say I’ve been really impressed by anything so far.”
“You didn’t have that reptile chasing you.”
“I concede the point. But I wonder why they’re holding back? Toying with us?”
“Trent, it may just be that they’re as chary of us as we are of them.”
“Gee, think of that. Let’s get closer.”
“Hold on.”
Many things began to happen. Great winged beasts appeared, defecating balls of fire as they flapped their huge pinions overhead. A motley troop of creatures — variously taloned and beaked, chitinous and scutellate, some with claws, others with pinchers — began charging up the hill. Amorphous shapes slithered out of shadow, leaping and gibbering. Vapors coalesced and churned with demonic energy, advancing like tornadoes. The grass was alive with fang-bearing homunculi that screamed and chittered their venomous hatred.
“A shooting gallery!” Trent said, both index fingers raised and spewing multicolored fire. “Have fun!”
“It may be our last chance,” Incarnadine said as his first shot dehorned a seven-foot-tall ambulatory crustacean with delusions of horror-film stardom.
The spooks charged and the bolts flew. Smoke and fire rose from the hayfield as chitin smoldered and scales burned. Great flying creatures plummeted from the sky, trailing pink and yellow sparks and bright blue smoke. Vortexes exploded, and brilliant shafts of radiant energy intersected in the night. There came swarming congeries of fiery motes, and bright tongues of flame, the sky taking its color from their flashing luminescence.
Incarnadine flamed a four-pincered lobsterlike thing that had advanced to within a few yards of him, and when the creature vanished in a puff of vermilion smoke, the armored, insectoid little hellion that it had shielded leaped at him like a grasshopper. He fired, diving to the right and rolling to his feet again, only to confront another hobgoblin, this one a nine-foot-tall cross between a praying mantis and a sexually aroused ostrich. Incarnadine hosed it down, then played his beam of energy on the blasphemous horror that wriggled and twitched behind it.
The battle continued for some time, stratagems being employed on both sides. Creatures would feint at one invader and charge the other. The brothers cross-fired on oversize and airborne demons, and generally helped each other when they could.
Eventually the stream of apparitions petered out.
Incarnadine burned the last of the big ones, then mopped up what remained of the salamanders and other smaller incubi.
When done, he turned to see Trent shaking off a small legless thing with big yellow teeth that was worrying at the cuff of his trousers. He kicked it away and spritzed it with fire. The thing squealed hideously, blazing into nothingness like a scrap of flash paper.
Trent walked over to his brother, smiling, his breath trailing behind him in the cold night air. “So much for the fireworks. I wonder when the real battle’s going to start?”
Something was forming in the air over the manor house, something big. It was an image, at first blurred and indistinct, gradually growing sharper.
It was a face, a human face, dark of eye and square of jaw. The thin lips curled into a pleasant smile.
“Hi!” the image said brightly. “Listen. Can we talk?”
Twenty-eight
Castle
“How’s it look out there?” Barnaby whispered.
Deena poked her head out of the niche and looked up and down the corridor.
“Okay. I don’t see any of ’em.”
“Let’s move.”
Cautiously they exited the niche and inched along the wall, their eyes wide and fearful. A demon howled somewhere close, and they froze.
Deena pushed her face against Barnaby’s chest. “They gonna get us,” she whimpered.
“No!” Barnaby said. “We’re going to get out of here. Let’s move.”
Deena dried her eyes and crept on.
Barnaby stayed behind for a moment, looking back down the passageway. Deena reached back for his hand, couldn’t find it, and halted, turning her head.
“Barnaby!”
“Shh. Hold it.”
“C’mon!”
Satisfied that they weren’t being followed, he started forward. Deena took a step, bringing her head around in time to see a human hand growing out of the wall.
She screamed and jumped back.
The hand grew an arm, which in turn got connected to a shoulder. Then Kwip stepped out of the wall like a ghost in the flesh.
The two were dumbfounded.
Kwip put a finger to his lips. “It’s me peculiar talent. I’m glad to find you.”
“How did you get away from that … thing?” Barnaby asked.
“The demon? By the method you just saw. I’ve the Creator to thank that wall-walking’s a talent they lack.”
“Can we still get to that aspect of yours? Do you know where we are?”
“Approximately. Methinks we’d best hide out awhile. A blind chamber, preferably with something to eat and drink in it, a wine and cheese cellar, perhaps. But any room with a locked door will do.”
“Sounds good to me,” Deena said.
“Aye. Now, do exactly as I say. Come here, lad.” He drew Barnaby to him by the hand. “Take hold of the back of me shirt and hang on for dear life. Join hands with your ladyfriend, and whatever you do, don’t let go of her, either. Am I clear?”
They nodded.
“Good. Now, follow me, and hesitate at peril of your life.”
They lined up, Kwip in front facing the wall.
A hellish screeching came from the left. They turned to see a demon rushing down the passageway at them.
“Follow me!” Kwip shouted, striding forward. He merged with the stone and was absorbed into it. Unbelieving but unwilling to be left behind, Barnaby and Deena followed.
The passage through the stone was like walking in water. Mercifully the experience was of short duration. They emerged into another hallway.
“That was weird,” Deena said.
Kwip glanced around. “And again.”
They ghosted through the opposite wall. This time they came out in a book-crammed chamber lit by a single candle that had almost burned itself out.
Kwip barked a shin against the tome-littered table that filled most of the floor space. “Gods of a pig’s arse!” Rubbing his leg, he looked around. “Well, food for thought, at any rate. This will do, I suppose. No demon will get in here.”
They heard a disgruntled moan. It had come from beneath the table.
Kwip drew his saber, knocking over a stack of books. Then a head appeared above the tabletop. The glazed eyes of a slight, balding man regarded the intruders.
“Greetings.” The man belched. “If you don’t mind my asking, how in the name of all the gods did you get in here?”
“It’s the librarian,” Kwip told his companions.
Osmirik squinted at him. “Kwip. Ah, Kwip, my good man.” Osmirik struggled to his feet. Tongue a trifle thick, he licked his lips, scratching himself. Smiling, he said, “I’m glad for a little company. It was getting a bit lonely in here.”
“Hiding out, then?” Kwip asked, sheathing his sword.
“Quite so. Ah, I see I have more than one guest.” Osmirik smiled.
Barnaby introduced himself and Deena.
“Enchanted, my dear lady,” Osmirik said, overdoing a bow. He was obviously a bit drunk.
Deena giggled, but enjoyed the scribe’s elaborate gesture.