Bernt’s banefire spell clipped the hag’s flank as she tried to dodge. She shrieked in pain and again the sound didn’t reach Bernt’s ears. Someone was protecting them from the creature’s withering screams. It fell to the ground and writhed in agony as the spell devoured its flesh.

  Two imps burst from the trees, hissing as they dove down at the adventurers. Bernt caught one with a handful of manaburn as Nirlig tried to sweep the other out of the air. The burning imp crashed to the ground, flailing in panic. The goblin missed his target and the second imp hissed angrily, making a familiar throwing motion as it landed. A sticky gobbet of hellfire shot from its hand, but Torvald intercepted the projectile with the flat of his blade, slashing back up and taking one of the imp’s arms off in the same motion. The weapon came out glowing hot.

  Bernt's own target was flailing on the ground, still trying to put itself out, even though it didn't actually appear to be burning. It was just a spawnling, but imps were resistant to fire – it wasn't hot enough. Bernt finished it off with a bolt of banefire, wincing as he released the spell. He couldn't help but see Jori in the little demon. It felt... wrong to kill it. Cruel.

  A strangled cry broke Bernt out of the moment. He whirled to find Nirlig on his back, a monstrous creature pinning him down, held back only by the shaft of the goblin’s spear. The thing’s arms and legs were much too long and thin and its head was misshapen, with a sort of muzzle and long, sharp teeth that protruded out as it tried to bite at Nirlig’s face.

  It was larger and leaner, and this one only had two arms, but Bernt still recognized the weird slimy skin, creepy teeth and lidless eyes. This was a demon like the one that Jori had caught and killed in the sewers under the alchemist's lab months ago—a fiend.

  He began casting banefire again, but Uriah, who had likely been preparing for his moment this entire time, was faster. A loose grayish ball of fire shot out from the hydromancer's outstretched hand directly into the thing’s monstrous face.

  It screeched in pain and reeled back, skin blackening and cracking in the unnatural flame, but it didn’t die as it should have. As Nirlig scrambled back, the thing lunged forward, swiping one of its too-long arms at Uriah. He backed up and swung his staff at the thing like a club, maintaining as much distance as he could. The fiend blocked the heavy hardwood easily, taking the blow on one of its arms with a crack. Then Bernt’s own banefire spell was ready.

  The pyromancer’s much more cohesive spell struck the monster in what passed for its ribs, eliciting a pained screech. It staggered back, wheezing, then it caught itself and growled. Its blackened ribs were exposed to daylight, and Bernt could see hideously damaged organs underneath, yet it still didn’t die. It lunged once more, only to find Torvald standing in the way, sword extended. It hesitated for a moment, and the paladin struck, only to find empty air where his enemy had been.

  “Wait!” bellowed an authoritative voice. It was Hannis. The high priest had come out of the bushes behind the monster and yanked it back, saving it from Torvald’s killing stroke. “I'd like to have a talk with this one before we send it on its way.”

  Bernt blinked and looked around. Demon corpses lay scattered in the road and the bushes, where adventurers had taken them down. Despite how intense the fight had felt, nobody on their side was down. They’d beaten the ambush back easily. Nirlig had a few scratches, and there were scorch marks on Torvald’s armor, but they were fine.

  “We’re lucky we didn’t get hit by that hag’s screams,” Bernt realized out loud. “We would have been defenseless.”

  “Yeah,” Elyn said a little breathlessly. She was standing at the back, eyes wide and clutching some kind of metal fork. “I can’t believe that actually worked!”

  “That was you?” Bernt stared, mind working. “How did you know to try it?”

  “Jori told me about how different kinds of demons fight. She was always hanging around that warlock girl at work. Hags use aural magic, just like bards. You can disrupt it, if you know what you’re doing.” She held up the metal thing, and gave a weak smile. “Special tuning fork. Works against other bards, too.”

  Bernt heard cursing and looked back toward the demon in time to see Captain Emata emerge from the bushes, berating the high priest of Noruk for running off into the undergrowth without backup.

  “Never, ever break ranks to run into a concealed position! Are you trying to get killed? There could have been anything in those bushes! If you think I’m coming in after you every time—”

  Then fiend squirmed and hissed, earning a lightning-fast punch to the face from Hannis. It continued to struggle, apparently unimpressed by the old man’s strength. Captain Emata stepped in behind it and whipped the pommel of her sword into the base of its neck, never interrupting her tirade. The demon dropped to the ground again.

  “—you are sorely mistaken. You think your god is going to save you from a tactical error like that every time? You're practically begging to—"

  Hannis raised a hand, cutting her off.

  “Enough! I will not fight standing in a line and cowering behind a shield like a common infantryman.” He glared down his nose at the younger woman. “I am not one of your recruits, Captain, nor am I bound to military discipline like the paladins of our order. I will fight as it pleases Noruk.”

  Emata glowered, but she didn’t argue as she sheathed her sword. Seeing that the danger was past, others gathered to see what the commotion was about. Surin, meanwhile, was treating the few injuries that had been sustained.

  Before anyone could react, the demon gathered its legs underneath it and launched itself at the high priest of Noruk, its too-long arms extended. There was a crack and a loud squeal, followed by a flash of light. Hannis had moved faster than the eye could follow, ducking underneath the demon’s grasp and catching one of the fiend’s limbs as he did. The limb in question was now twisted behind the thing’s back at an unnatural angle, clearly broken.

  “Where are the Duergar?” Hannis asked, giving the broken limb a little twist for emphasis. The fiend gave a breathless cry.

  “Agh! I can’t – ”

  Hannis twisted it a little more, making an unpleasant popping noise. The thing jerked violently, then shuddered and hissed.

  “I… can… not…”

  “Who is your master? What’s his name?” Hannis asked impatiently, apparently accepting that the demon couldn’t answer.

  “I serve Zijeregh," it hissed, "devourer of will and servant of Nuros, chosen of Varamemnon. ”

  “That’s something, I guess, but immaterial. Who are your Duergar masters?”

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  “I have no mortal mas – Agh!” Hannis twisted contemptuously to cut the creature off.

  “Let’s try it again. Who summoned you?”

  “I am bound by pact! I cannot say!” the demon gasped.

  “What good are you, then? Tell me what you can. When you were summoned? Were you underground or on the surface? ”

  “Underground. We came up as the sun set. Last night!”

  “Finally,” Hannis grumbled, slamming an open hand down on the back of the fiend’s burnt head, “something at least.”

  Light flared, and the demon collapsed on the ground bonelessly. Ignoring the corpse, the priest turned to the assembled group.

  “The Duergar are following us, probably from below, and sending demons up to harass us. Unless we want to get hit again, we should hurry to reach Lochholme before they have a chance to resummon their little squad of assassins.” Hannis kicked at the dead demon. “Or before this one tries to get its superiors involved.”

  ***

  Jori took a running leap over the cliff edge, spreading her wings as she did. It wasn’t a very tall cliff, but you had to get your fun where you could. This place was empty, even for the hells – she hadn’t seen another demon in days. Not a lot of souls here. It was a desert, even by demon standards.

  What had Tallash done to get such a crummy foraging assignment?

  Then again, he was a fiend who ate the only demons he could bully into his service. He had probably never been destined for greatness. It wasn’t just that he was a monster, no. He was stupid, too. And he was going to die. Soon.

  Jori shivered in anticipation as she circled around, aiming for the cave-entrance that Ed had made at the base of the low cliff. Pulling her wings in just in time, she shot through the doorway and landed at a run, taking a few steps to slow down.

  “Dzhorianath, you’re back!” Maladzhoth called out, obviously relieved. “I thought we were going to be stuck in here until I could melt through the wall.”

  Sure enough, two of the thick stone columns that made up the cell were glassy and pitted near the bottom, though they didn’t really look any thinner. It would probably take days to get through – maybe longer. It made Jori wonder what Ed had done to the stone. She could melt normal stones in seconds.

  Two more imps huddled in the cell, both of them chittering softly in the natural language of demons – wondering where the great one had gone to and asking each other if they had any food. They weren’t very smart, yet.

  “Stop that!” Jori snapped. “We will be back soon. If you damage the cell, I’m not going to give you any food. I’ll make you eat bugs and give everyone else the real food.”

  She’d been sharing some of her jerky with the prisoners, trying to show them what the world had to offer if you gave it a chance. Imps didn’t need much to sustain themselves – she ate mostly for pleasure – but it was important to show her cousins what they were missing. She didn't really know what she was doing, but Bernt had started with feeding her, and she'd turned out great!

  Maladzhoth, appropriately chastised, sat back in the cell.

  “What are you doing out there? Where is the Great Mage?”

  “None of your business! Tell me why you disappeared. Who summoned you?”

  Maladzhoth grimaced uncomfortably. “It’s a secret. I can’t tell.”

  Jori scoffed. “I know it was the Duergar. Who were you fighting? What was the mission?”

  The other imp shrugged. “Attack mortals sleeping in the night. We got some, but the others fought back, and one of them got me.” Maladzhoth rubbed at his chest. “He had a big stick. It hurt.”

  Jori snorted derisively and shook her head. He’d been killed by a guy with a stick? How embarrassing! “Was Tallash there?”

  “Hiding in the back, I'm sure” he hissed, scowling. “There were others, too. A strong shade and a hag with their thralls. They got many of us.”

  Thralls. Jori hated that word. It was a term demons only used for their lowest servants. Those who were too weak to do anything but serve, to weak to pursue their own interests. They were fodder for the great ones’ armies, and literal food for the fiends.

  “Where are the others? Do you think they lost?”

  “There was a priest at the end. He called down terror from the sky. A red eye, burning bright. It was watching us…” Maladzhoth subsided with a shiver.

  Jori turned and left. Whatever the other imp was talking about, Tallash would be back soon, she was sure. She needed to hurry. When he arrived, they had to be ready.

  ***

  Tallash felt something pop as he snapped back to consciousness, like a drop of rain striking the river of flames. There was a familiar sense of falling, followed by a nauseating spinning sensation and heat. So much heat.

  Then the pain receded and he opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground, the stones all around him scorched and slightly melted with the hellfire in which he’d been reborn. Humiliation burned in the fiend’s heart. Those arrogant mortals! They had burned him. Him! With some kind of unnatural fire. How could such a thing exist?

  And he’d been killed. By an unarmed, old mortal human. He’d been made a fool of. Now, he would have to wait for the Duergar to summon him again and hope that they didn’t report his failure to Zijeregh.

  This had to be Roaznis’ fault. The filthy hag hadn’t paralyzed the mortals as she’d promised. She’d failed in the first ambush as well. Was she working with the enemy, somehow? It shouldn’t be possible. She had to be bound by pact to the Duergar at least, just as he was! He would have to report his suspicion to Zijeregh. If she wasn’t a traitor, her incompetence should see her destroyed all the same.

  A suffocating weight suddenly pressed down on him, crushing him to the ground. Tallash gasped, eyes rolling. What was that?

  There was motion, then claws raked at his belly. They didn’t break his thick skin, but it still hurt. A hairy, gray bearded face loomed over him. It was hideous. It was the mortal and the traitor imp! How had they found him so quickly?!

  Hellfire blocked his vision as the imp flung a gobbet directly into his face. It didn’t do anything, of course. The stupid imp’s hellfire could never touch him. He could swim in the rivers of this world! Tallash writhed against the weight, feeling for the edges of the strange spell.

  There! He could move his left hand. The weight wasn’t solid – more like an impossibly heavy blanket laid on top of him. If he could just pull himself out from under it… The imp kept throwing fire, and Tallash dug his claws into the ground and pulled. He felt himself move, the rocks underneath him scraping uncomfortably against his back.

  “Are you done?” The mortal asked, sounding exasperated.

  The insolent creature kicked him in the ribs with a hiss and disappeared from view.

  “Now I’m done.”

  “Do not turn your back on me, meat!” Tallash growled through clenched teeth. He needed to buy time. “I will strip the flesh from your pactor’s bones and bind you into my service. Nuros will reward me with a city, and Varamemnon will know my name!”

  He scrabbled for purchase, finding solid rock and hauled again. He was going to make it. The mortal was still distracted, not looking. Pulling as hard as he could, Tallash got an elbow free and began to twist himself free.

  “Slippery bastard, aren’t you?” the mortal said, and the weight came crashing down again with a vengeance. Tallash groaned with frustration and impotent rage. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not here.

  The mortal’s eyes met his and they were cold and blank. There was no rage, no hunger, and no glee there. Then he narrowed his eyes in concentration, and raised one hand. Tallash heard a soft snap and everything went red before fading to black.