“Really,” the nobleman sighed dryly, “this is silly.” Still holding Genevieve against the wall, he flicked his free hand at the hunter and sent him flying explosively back, falling hard to the ground near where Maric and Utha tried to regain their feet.
Duncan stayed back, his daggers at the ready. His first thought was to circle around and try to stab the demon unawares, but seeing how effective the others were being with their attacks made it seem unlikely that his would be any better. Instead, he edged over to where Fiona lay and gingerly touched her.
“Fiona?” he whispered. “Are you okay?”
She raised her head slowly, and he realized that was a very stupid question. Her back was bloody and flayed open, and as she looked at him with questioning, reddened eyes and a face stained with tears, he gathered she had no idea who he was and barely even registered that he was there.
“Here, let me try to get those manacles off you.” He took her hands, noticing that her wrists were rubbed raw and bloody by the thick iron manacles that held them. It seemed like it might be simple enough to pick. He reached into his belt and pulled out his hidden lockpick.
“Away from her!” the demon roared, spinning on Duncan and thrusting out his hand to dash him away from Fiona. Duncan slid along the ground and bashed his head hard on a stone outcropping by the wall, crying out as agony burned through him. He groggily tried to sit up, and could hear the sounds of shouting as Genevieve and the others charged the demon again. Perhaps he had successfully distracted the creature? That was a comforting thought.
He got to his feet just in time to see Genevieve thrust her greatsword completely through the nobleman’s midsection. It passed through cleanly, spilling no blood as it came out the other side, and he looked at her almost in disappointment. “Truly, is that the best you can do? Are such futile efforts supposed to impress me?” He reached out with a hand, his speed lightning quick and too fast for Genevieve to avoid, grabbing her throat and lifting her off the ground.
She gasped and batted ineffectually at his hand. “See? I can do this the old-fashioned way just as easily,” he chuckled. “As soon as you dispense with this useless struggle, you can all perish quietly. Saving you for later was obviously a mistake.”
Kell lay nearby, sprawled on the floor unconscious. Duncan couldn’t see where Utha was. Maric stood near the demon, his head bloody, clearly laboring to lift his runed sword for another strike.
“Maric, don’t!” Duncan shouted.
The demon spun his head around to spot Maric, and his hand snatched Maric up by the neck the same way he had Genevieve. Maric gasped loudly, holding on to his sword and hacking as the demon lifted him off the ground. His efforts did little more than slash the creature’s embroidered coat.
The nobleman glanced down at the slashes, his purple eyes flashing dangerously. “For that, you will need to suffer.” Still holding Genevieve aloft with his other hand, he began to crush Maric’s throat. The crunching sound was wet and unpleasant, and Maric let out a guttural cry of anguish that filled the cavern.
Suddenly another shout rang out, a feral scream of pain and rage. It was Fiona. She rose from the floor like a madwoman, shaking from the effort, her eyes wild, bright magical power coalescing around her fists. The demon paused and turned a curious eye toward her, but not before she unleashed an enormous bolt of lightning at him.
The flash of light blinded Duncan, and the thunder that followed almost threw him off his feet. He stumbled against the wall behind him, and when he opened his eyes he saw that Fiona had dropped down to her knees, her effort spent. The demon was on the ground, having dropped Genevieve and Maric both. His coat was completely burned away, leaving his bare chest smoking from the strike. He seemed dazed.
Duncan took his chance. He charged across the room, leaping into the air and landing directly on top of the nobleman before he could recover his bearings. Let’s see if this does something now! He plunged both of his daggers into the demon’s head as he landed, and they both slid bloodlessly into the creature’s eyes.
He roared in pain, flailing his arms about and unable to see. Duncan felt himself gripped by an invisible power and propelled high up into the air. He was bashed into the ceiling of the cavern, pressed there as if by some giant hand. He was being crushed, the air forced out of his lungs and leaving him gasping.
“That was a very foolish thing, little one!” the nobleman snarled, yanking one of the daggers from his eyes. The purple glow in that eye was now sickly bright, shining out as if it was bleeding from a crack in his facade. He turned toward Fiona, an inhuman grimace on his face. “You wish to play, do you? You wish more lashes? When will you ever learn?”
“Never!” she spat. She lifted herself back off the ground, so weak she was shaking, her face contorted into nothing short of vicious defiance. “I will never suffer your touch again! Never!”
“We shall see,” he snapped. Flames burned around one of his hands, black flames that filled the entire room with a stark coldness that made Duncan flinch. He pointed his hand at Fiona, the flames growing to even greater magnitude. She glared at him and did not back down.
Before the demon could act, however, Duncan saw a blood-soaked Maric rise up behind him. The King roared a battle cry as he swung his longsword and beheaded the demon in one stroke. They woke up.
Duncan picked himself off the cold stone floor of the dwarven ruin, the skeletons still all around him. He saw the corpse of the dwarven ruler, the one who had been possessed by the demon, and it now sprawled lifelessly on its ancient throne as if it had never moved. The dead were simply dead once again, and he watched as the ruler’s bones crumbled and slowly fell apart, what ever magic had held them together now departed. Within moments there was nothing on the throne except dust.
The ominous sense in the room was gone. He could hear the others stirring, and he saw Maric waking up on the dais. Right next to Duncan, Fiona stirred. She was back to her normal form, he saw, and none of the injuries she had suffered in the Fade translated to her body. None of theirs had.
She stared at her hands, almost disbelieving. “This … is the real world? I’m alive?”
“We all are,” he told her with a grin.
She leaned over and snatched him up in a hug, crying tears of exhaustion and relief, and he held her close. He couldn’t imagine what she had gone through. He didn’t want to. It was bad enough remembering what he had left behind.
Not all of them recovered, however. While the others all began to rise, Nicolas remained sprawled where the demon had flung him, as lifeless as the ancient corpses around him.
Duncan found himself hoping that wherever Nicolas was now, his dream continued and he found the peace he wanted so desperately. Somebody should.
14
Fiona felt relieved to get out of there finally.
The group all but fled the ruined palace after Kell re united with Hafter. The hound barked at his master repeatedly, almost as if admonishing the fact that he and the others had left him alone for so long. She wasn’t sure if the hound had slept, or if he had been somewhere with them in the Fade. Dogs dreamed, didn’t they? Either way, he was clearly relieved, as was Kell. The hunter said little, and just patted Hafter’s head and smiled sadly.
They took Nicolas’s body with them. It didn’t seem right to leave him amid all those dwarves who had died so horribly. Kell and Maric carried him between them, neither speaking a word as Genevieve led them out. Fiona followed along, hugging her arms around herself and trying to regain some warmth. She couldn’t stop shivering. The more that nightmare lingered in her thoughts, the colder she felt.