Part 18 (1/2)

With a roar that would have chilled the blood of less hardened pilgrims, two of the largest abominations lurched forward. Simna ducked a slice from a skinning knife that was easily big enough to decapitate a buffalo in a single swipe. Charging forward, Hunkapa Aub struck the creature beneath two of its four arms and knocked it off its feet. Ahlitah was an ebony blur, slas.h.i.+ng and snapping anything that came near. Several of the rapacious monstrosities tried to surround the big cat, but it was much too quick for them.

Like a runaway guillotine, a gigantic meat cleaver descended in Ehomba's direction, aiming squarely for the herdsman's head. Bringing the sky-metal sword up and around, he parried the blow. Sparks flew as metal struck metal with a reverberant ring that echoed back and forth across the street. The attention of his own a.s.sailants momentarily diverted by Hunkapa Aub, Simna saw the two blades make contact-and his heart sank.

A chunk the size of a small plate had been taken out of the side of the sky-metal blade.

He wanted to shout at his friend, to hear an explanation for what had just happened. Sorcerer supreme Ehomba might be, or simple herder of cattle and sheep as he claimed, but there was no disputing the power of the singular sword. Simna had seen it in action too many times to doubt its alchemical provenance. Whatever happened to its owner, it was impossible for the weapon to fail. Impossible!

Yet, a second blow from the raging demon's cleaver took another piece out of the blade. Many more impacts like that and Ehomba would be left without anything to fight with. Somehow Simna knew that the herdsman's other weapon of choice would not save them here. The efficacy of the sea-bone sword this far from the ocean would be much in doubt. Butchers from the netherworld would probably greet the sharks the blade's teeth would bring forth as another welcome source of meat, be it solid or numinous.

As for the herdsman's spear, that was a last hope held in reserve, but the swordsman remembered his tall friend saying on more than one occasion that its startling effects were of brief duration, and therefore could not be counted upon for more than momentary salvation. As he looked on, the herdsman parried still another weighty swing. A third section of sword shattered violently.

The blighted butchers pressed their a.s.sault. Hunkapa was holding his own, and the black litah doing real damage. In a fair fight the visitors might well have prevailed. But they were outnumbered, and by creatures for whom Death itself was an old friend. Their a.s.sailants had relentless confidence and no fear.

Simna had to admire the way Ehomba fought on, stolid and expressionless, swinging his failing blade with steadfast determination as if nothing were wrong. By himself he was holding off the three biggest of their a.s.sailants, whose heavy cleavers were taking a terrible toll on the herdsman's weapon. The stocky mercenary was about to shout the suggestion that Ehomba throw away his deteriorating weapon and try the magic of the spear, when a glint out of the corner of his eye momentarily diverted his attention.

It was one of the many splinters the frenzied demons had struck from the surface of the sky-metal sword. The tiny bit of metal was glowing brightly, emitting a vaporous fragment of the deep azure light that Simna had seen the whole sword give off when justly held in both Ehomba's long-fingered hands. As he stared, still vigorously defending himself but keeping an eye on the splinter, it rose from the slimed street, s.h.i.+ning more brightly than ever. Beneath his disbelieving gaze it expanded until it was more than a foot long and pulsing with an intense blue light. He had seen that same fierce, cold, cobalt effulgence before-at moments that had preceded deliverance.

Something else put a claim on his attention. Three more of the shattered splinters were rising from the ground, elongating and glowing. Off to his left rose still another half dozen, burning with an angry, internal, azure radiance. Ahlitah gave ground as a handful of metal shavings beneath his feet lifted to luminous attention, and Hunkapa Aub paused in his exertions to stare mesmerized at the shards that were rising from the ooze beneath his very feet.

Everywhere splinters and fragments from the sky-metal sword had landed it was the same. Every flake and chip, no matter how small, no matter how seemingly insignificant, was rapidly regenerating itself as a smaller version of the matriarchal sword. At the sight the diabolic butchers slowed but did not halt their attack.

Then Ehomba took a step back from the conflict. Holding the sword hilt tightly in both hands, he raised the remnants of the primary blade over his head. In concert, a thousand smaller versions of the original weapon rose skyward and hung, glowing, parallel to the ground. The field of battle before the demonic slaughterhouse was engulfed in lambent blue.

When next the herdsman swung the peerless weapon aggressively, a thousand l.u.s.trous offspring mimicked the blow to glistening metallic perfection.

XVII.

A cerulean wind moaned as the thousand blades struck at the loathsome a.s.sailants. When the demon-butchers attempted to rally and strike back, Ehomba dipped his sword and their blows were met by a thousand unyielding parries. At that moment more than the tide of battle turned: The dark heart, the evil essence of the enemy, evaporated like a palmful of water on the scorched approach to Skawpane.

Not that they ran. Flight was not in their nature. They fought on, continuing their efforts to slaughter the handful of obstreperous mortals. All that had changed was that one of their human opponents now wielded a thousand blades where moments ago there had been only one.

Come to think of it, everything had changed.

So elated by this unexpected turn of events was Simna ibn Sind that he forgot to taunt his lanky companion about his supposed lack of sorceral skills. The swordsman was too busy thrusting and hacking as he threw himself at their adversaries. One on one, he was convinced that nothing lived, of this Earth or anywhere else, that could stand against him. Part of this was due to actual skill, part to confidence, and part to pure bl.u.s.ter. Stirred together in the anima of the stocky swordsman, they made him a dangerously unpredictable opponent.

Bellowing defiance, Hunkapa Aub was breaking limbs and heaving opponents into nearby walls with unbridled gusto, his great strength and boundless energy giving even the most formidable of the fiends pause. The black litah was a dark streak of feline dynamism; blurred destruction. Fang and claw left their multiple marks on many a.s.sailants, who searched in vain for a tormentor who had already moved off to attack someone else.

A monstrous cleaver descended, only to have its path blocked by a hundred blades. Many splintered under the impact, but many did not. Bringing his weapon up and around, Ehomba visited a hundred deep cuts on his a.s.sailant. The towering brute gasped and clutched at its flank, unable to stop the flow of green blood from its side. And each of the metallic splinters from the dozens of smaller swords it had shattered arose afresh to give birth to a hundred new sharp points and edges.

Amputated arms and tentacles lay twitching in the street, some still futilely clutching their weapons. Green blood ran in rivers into animate sewers that sucked greedily at the flow. Blinded and crippled, sliced into smaller and smaller pieces, confronting a hostile and terrible magic where traditionally there should have been none, the would-be butchers fell back. Those that were still capable of movement retreated into the depths of the slaughterhouse and the unmentionable horrors that hung curing within. Others limped or crawled or dragged themselves into side alleys and away from the theater of battle.

They found neither safety nor surcease there, and certainly no compa.s.sion, the latter being an emotion as alien to Skawpane as love or understanding. From their places of concealment in dark byways and dank vents, fanged orifices and greedy claws s.h.i.+vered forth to drag the wounded away. Drifting faintly back to the main street, the sounds of this muted slaughter were dreadful in the extreme.

Only two of the foul crew of expectant butchers that had originally confronted the travelers were still capable of rapid movement. Without a word, they gave up at the same time, throwing their weapons and butchering tools aside as they hobbled for the safety of the slaughterhouse, slamming the great doors shut behind them and sealing themselves tightly inside.

Face alight with blood-l.u.s.t, Simna was all for pursuing and finis.h.i.+ng them off. Ehomba first restrained, then calmed, his friend.

”It is enough. I do not think they will trouble us for the duration of our stay in Skawpane.”

”Gierot well right they won't!” Breathing hard, the swordsman employed his weapon to make several obscene gestures in the direction of the shut-up slaughterhouse. ”What say you, s.h.i.+t-sp.a.w.n? Not bad work for a few sc.r.a.ps of 'little meat,' hoy?”

Nearby, Hunkapa Aub was picking curiously through a pile of severed limbs, holding each one up for closer inspection, then tossing it aside as he moved on to the next. Ahlitah was sitting on the highest chunk of volcanic paving stone he had been able to find, one that was moderately free of slime, and was cleaning himself, licking his forepaws and using them to glean green gore, varicolored guts, and bits of torn flesh from his jaws and feet.

As Simna relaxed and his levels of excitement, energy, and adrenaline began to decline, he and his companions were treated to another piece of sorcery that, if asked, Etjole Ehomba would insist he had nothing to do with. Using a slightly different two-handed grip to hold the damaged sword out in front of him, the herdsman held himself steady and watched blue effulgence expand. Soon the chipped and scored blade was throbbing and vibrating like a live thing. The effort Ehomba was expending to hold it in place showed in the whitened knuckles of his fingers and the strained lines of his face.

Gradually, and then more swiftly, in ones and twos and small groups, the thousand-plus miniature swords that the conflict had given birth to returned to their metal of origin. Streaks of drifting, razor-edged silver-gray and blue bolted in the herdsman's direction, the combined rush of their ma.s.s returning generating a small blue typhoon that roared and howled above Ehomba's clenched hands. Steel swirled giddily about the parent blade. The etched span of sky metal drank them down, soaking up each and every sibling sword in an orgy of resplendent sapphire metalogenesis.

Then the last was gone; vanished, redigested and amalgamated by the original length of star steel. The cerulean glow faded, the complaining roar of displaced air fell to a whisper, and the sky-metal sword was once again whole.

Without a word of comment, its owner slid it back into its empty sheath. As was usually the case, Ehomba's expression could not be read, but it was clear that the effort had cost him. Perspiration poured in small vertical rivers down his face and body, staining his s.h.i.+rt and kilt and running off down his legs and between his toes. If he was not breathing as hard as Simna, he was certainly fatigued.

”I need something to eat,” he informed his companions, ”and a place to rest.”

”Not rest here.” As he delivered himself of the obvious, Hunkapa Aub kicked aside a mutilated, multimouthed length of tentacle as thick around as his thigh.

”No.” Tired as he was, Ehomba was in complete agreement with his hirsute crony. ”We will find a suitable place once we are well away from this blasphemous community.” Straightening to his considerable, full height, he gestured ahead. ”But first we will have the water that we have fought so hard to gain.”

Eyes and photoreceptors that were not eyes and organs that did not even require the presence of light in order to see watched from the shadows as the four vanquis.h.i.+ng mortals strode purposefully past the locked-down slaughterhouse and the remaining few buildings that barred them from the central square.

Now and then, Simna ibn Sind would raise his sword and take a step sideways as if to confront one of the hidden watchers. In response, the concealed eyes always retreated-albeit some with greater reluctance than others.

When they finally reached the plaza that lay at Skawpane's heart, it was with a feeling of mutual relief.

The unlucky lizard had not played them false: The fountain was there, exactly as it had told them it would be. Fenced off by blocks of volcanic scree, it bubbled and foamed to a height of more than fifteen feet.

From all appearances, it was a natural spring. Fed from below, it could not be turned off. Hundreds of gallons of fresh water spouted into the sky, spilling down into cracks that carried it away, and all of it theirs for the taking. Except that it was perfectly useless to them.

Because Skawpane's fountain was a geyser.

It made sense, Ehomba mused. What more fitting as the centerpiece for a h.e.l.lish town like this than a permanent font of boiling water? It was so hot that they could not get near it. Hunkapa Aub and the black litah had to keep well clear lest the sizzling droplets singe their bare feet and paws. Much of the water turned to steam before it could fall back to Earth. Even if they could figure out a way to approach close enough to catch the searing liquid, there was no way they could transport it: The heat would destroy their water bags.

As he considered the predicament, Ehomba felt a hand tapping urgently on his shoulder. Turning, he saw what Simna was pointing at.

Emboldened by the travelers' indecisiveness, a diverse collection of Skawpane's denizens began to emerge from their burrows, pits, sewers, and hiding places. Things with great glowing eyes and pincers in place of hands came crawling slowly toward the fountain. Tentacles writhed, and legs with joints in all the wrong places staggered stiffly out of dark recesses in the surrounding structures. They were not as well armed as the inhabitants of the slaughterhouse had been, but this time there were many more of them. It was as if the entire mephitic town had decided to creep forth to teach the interlopers a lesson.

Teeth clenched, Simna gripped his sword tightly. ”Time for another fight, bruther. By Gowoar, there's a lot of them! I hope they don't realize how tired I am. Swinging a sword is heavy work.”

”We are all tired,” the herdsman observed. ”Perhaps we will not have to fight.”

”Not for this cursed 'water.' Useful for boiling a chicken or two, but we can't take it with us.”

”Maybe we can.” Ehomba was ignoring the swarming, slithering, advancing rabble to concentrate on the geyser. It hissed and sputtered angrily as it spewed from the earth. In his right hand he still held the sky-metal sword. Now he raised and aimed it-not at the salivating, noisome creatures that were humping their way toward him and his friends, but toward the geyser. This time the blue glow that emanated from the wondrous blade was so deep as to be almost purple.

”Hoy, long bruther,” Simna exhorted him, ”the enemy's over this way.” Though fatigued, Hunkapa Aub and Ahlitah had lined up on either side of him.