Dragon eye, p.25
Dragon Eye, page 25
part #4 of The Battle Wizard Saga Series
Another white monster with glowing eyes charged through the door and tackled Sig. The one hanging above dropped. A blast of flame from Grampa set its fur on fire. It squealed and landed on the second beast, now on top of Sig, catching it on fire, too.
Sig was buried under two flaming demons, both larger than he. The skin on Sig’s arm and side seared as all three struggled to stand in a space only big enough for two. He shoved one flaming, white abomination down the stairwell. The other grabbed him by the neck and bent its head, jaws agape, toward Sig’s throat. Too close to use his sword. Instead Sig thrust the fist holding Aðalbrandr into the flaming Yeti’s mouth, hilt first, shoving its head back.
Grampa clattered down the stairs and stabbed his sword through the beast’s back, into its heart. Sig threw the flaming dead creature down on top of the burning demon on the flight below.
Rick’s wolf raced down and through the doorway, passing Sig just before the stairwell’s sprinkler system turned on. Sig sliced through the water pipe and used magic to redirect the stream into a high pressure, needle-like stream that sliced through the next beast charging through the door.
Grampa jerked the door to an emergency firehose open, tossed the nozzle to Sig and turned it on. “I never think of water magic. No good at it. Glad you are,” Grampa said.
Although these demons were bigger and looked meaner than those on the floor above, they backed away into the room. “Watch out for an ambush,” Rick hollered.
Sig sent out his senses and felt an entity sidling along the other side of the wall. Sig pulled the hose lever and the high speed stream sprayed forth, but took a right angle at the door, slicing along the wall hidden from Sig’s sight.
A demon’s roar turned into a shriek. Sig charged forward. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a black demon fall backward, sliced almost in two by the concentrated water jet. Another black monster charged from behind that one. The creatures on this floor seemed to come in pairs. Sig pointed toward it. “Grampa, get him.”
Sig started swinging the hose; letting the length pay out, turning it into a canvas whip with a ten pound brass fitting on the end—water still spraying. After whacking three demons in succession with it, he skewered them while they were blinded by the water spray.
“You’re getting them all wet,” Grampa yelled. “Fire doesn’t work.” A massive blue demon swung a huge spiked club at Grampa, but he quickly threw up a shield wall. The club bounced back at the blue creature. Grampa strode through the space where he’d formed the barrier and thrust his sword into the demon’s chest. Before Grampa could pull the sword free another devil’s massive black paw smacked him across the room to smash into the wall hard enough to dent it. Grampa slid limply to the floor.
Sig decapitated an attacking demon and raised his other arm toward the sopping wet, black horned monster that had struck Grampa. “Fuoco,” Sig growled and a massive ball of fire shot from his hand engulfing the beast. A steam cloud blurred the air before the creature caught fire.
Sig barely managed to raise Aðalbrandr to block another club descending toward his head. The shock and vibration of the blow traveled up his arm and shoulder until it rang in his brain. The club rose again, but the demon wielding it suddenly wobbled and fell. Rick had ripped the tendons in the monster’s leg.
Rick dodged the falling demon, but one resembling a gigantic crimson boar gored him and hurled him toward a nearby office. The door splintered and Rick crashed into the room.
Sig rose on his toes and thrust Aðalbrandr down through the boar, like a matador skewering a bull. The hairy pig coughed and blood shot out of its snout as it collapsed.
Something that looked like a cross between a demon and a baboon with horns leaped at Sig—long black claws and teeth reaching to rip and tear. Sig drove his sword up through the horned demon’s jaw into its brain, then kicked the carcass off Aðalbrandr.
Panting like a freight train, Sig pivoted, looking for more attackers. They were all down, either dead and dwindling or slowly mending. Before checking on Rick and Grampa, Sig speared any demon that didn’t look like it was fading.
Rick was closest and Sig stepped toward the office where he lay just inside the doorway. Rick raised a hand. “I’ll be OK. Give me a few minutes.”
Grampa wasn’t moving. Sig knelt and checked his pulse. Still beating. He patted Grampa’s cheek a few times, until his eyes shot open and he raised a fist. Sig wrapped his hand around Grampa’s and pushed it away. “No fire. It’s me.”
Grampa squinted as he scrutinized Sig’s shoulders and chest. “You look like hell.”
“I feel worse.” Sig rose to his feet and pulled Grampa up as he scanned the room. Still no Mom.
“Time to check the rooms,” Sig said.
Rick braced himself on the wall and struggled to his feet. Grampa was leaning with his shoulder against a wall.
“You two rest. I’ll check them.”
All the rooms Sig checked were unlocked and empty, except one. He reared back prepared to kick it in.
“Restraint,” Grampa muttered. “Check inside first—since you can.”
Sig lowered his foot and sent sensing tendrils out. No one inside. But…
One of the huge blue demons hadn’t faded yet and appeared to be recovering. Sig grasped it by a horn and its tail, swung it around, and slung it headfirst into the door. The door slammed open and a dull explosion sounded. Green fumes enveloped the beast. It convulsed and its mouth frothed. Coughing, it tried to rise but collapsed. After a few twitches it stopped moving. Blisters formed and burst on its epidermis—it didn’t feel right calling it skin on a demon. If it could do that to the devil’s spawn, what would it do to a human—Sig still thought of himself and his family as human, at least compared to demons.
The corrosive emerald fog continued to expand. “Move, move,” Sig shouted. He grabbed Rick’s arm. Grampa was already stumbling toward the stairway. Luckily the door was still on its hinges. Sig slammed it shut behind them and leaned against it.
After a few moments, Rick patted Sig’s arm and pointed to the bottom of the door. Green mist tendrils oozed out.
Sig quickly pulled away from the door and nudged the other two down the stairwell. The vapor rolled over the first step and floated down. “Crap, it’s heavier than air.” He knew they needed to rest and recover for a few minutes—but they may not have the chance—he and Rick would heal, he didn’t know about Grampa.
On the mid-floor landing Sig concentrated and checked with the others. Qudamah and Oleksander reported all quiet above. Manuel and Borya couldn’t reply, they were still engaged with the demons two floors below.
The green mist rolled over and down to the second stair from the landing above. They couldn’t go up. If they went down past the next floor they may not be able to come back up as the gas dropped lower.
Would the mist give them time enough to coordinate their attack with the other teams? Could they wait long enough to recover from their wounds? Rick wasn’t looking good, wobbling as he stood. Grampa sat on a step and again leaned against a wall, his eyes shut. Sig felt like a rag doll that had been soaked in muddy water for a week and run over by an 18-wheeler. But he had to be strong. He remained standing—and watched the slow creep of the green vapor. It floated down to the third stair. There were only ten steps remaining before it reached their landing.
Chapter 62
The mist continued to roll slowly down the steps. Sig shut his eyes and tried contacting Borya and Manuel again. No response. Grampa sat on a step, looking wasted. Sig hesitated then nudged him and pointed at the poisonous mist. Grampa grabbed the helping hand Sig held out and joined him on the landing where Rick stood listening at the door.
“We can’t wait any longer,” Grampa said as wisps of mist curled over onto the step immediately above them.
Sig raised a hand, still focusing on communicating with the battle wizards on the floor below. “Manuel said they’re finished. Ready,… now!” He reared back, and kicked the door above the handle. The lock broke free and the door crashed open. Nothing sprang out.
Sig quickly scanned the room. Four mages faced him. Behind them, by the only uncovered window in the room, Heathcoat bent over a dark wooden chest with brass… or were they gold… hinges and straps. He held a glass vial containing a deep red liquid over the chest. Close to the elevator, another wizard stood beside a tall rectangular shape covered in black fabric.
A mage hurled fire. Sig raised Aðalbrandr and deflected the blazing bolt back into the room at the mages. Rick dodged around the four mages in front and dashed at the one beside the cloth covered box. The wizard waved his hand and a spell slammed into Rick knocking him across the room.
The door to other stairwell burst open and Borya and Manuel charged into the battle. A wizard slung icicle harpoons at them. Borya parried two and side-stepped a third, which Manuel shattered with his sword.
Sig charged the mages arrayed in front of him and thrust Aðalbrandr at a wizard’s chest. It bounced off an invisible shield. He let the sword’s momentum carry toward the next sorcerer, but only clipped that villain’s shoulder. The mage cursed, stepped back, and raised a hand. Sig ducked just in time to avoid a fiery blast aimed at his head. Intense heat was followed by the smell of singed hair.
Across the room, Borya flew backward and smashed into a wall. Sig’s ears popped. Heathcoat’s crony was channeling air blasts.
A ding sounded and the elevator doors opened. Grampa took advantage of the distraction to hurl a flaming ball at Heathcoat. The dark mage with the distinctive white streak in his hair glanced at the flames which splattered across an invisible barrier protecting him. Then he returned to his spell involving the contents of the box and what was probably a vial of the stolen dragon blood. Swirling colors and black stars floated above the container as Heathcoat performed his magic.
Borya still hadn’t regained his feet when two sorcerers attacked Manuel. He backed into the elevator which still stood open. From there he held his own, dodging and blocking fire and icicle spears.
“Push them back,” Heathcoat bellowed, pointing at the door Sig had kicked in. The green mist had floated into the room.
Sig propelled an air wave to push the green cloud back onto the landing. His effort was only temporary. More wafted down.
“Air magic, too?” Grampa said as he slammed the door shut on the chartreuse fog. You’re full of surprises. Look out!”
A huge slab of ice flew toward Sig. He barely brought Aðalbrandr around in time to shatter the slab into smaller pieces. Smaller, but not inconsequential, multiple pieces struck Sig, slicing numerous wounds.
Grampa cursed when several ice shards ripped into his body and knocked him down. A stream of fire shot toward where Grampa had fallen. Sig wasn’t near enough to block it with his sword, so he conjured a curtain of ice, absorbing the flame before it hit Grampa. Then Sig hurled a return blast at the fire wielder before he could erect a shield. The mage’s clothes and hair burst into flame. He dropped to the floor and rolled frantically.
“You’ve regained your magic.”
Sig turned in the direction of the voice. Heathcoat stared at Sig wide eyed.
“Stop if you want your mother to live,” He yelled gesturing toward the tall box covered in black cloth. “Show him.”
The mage beside the box flashed Sig an evil smile and raised his hand. The black cloth floated up to reveal a cage. An empty cage—the door open. The mage gawked, then his head swiveled back and forth, searching. He scowled and his hand began crackling with black sparks of dark magic.
Suddenly a bloody spear of ice jabbed out of his chest. He looked down at it quizzically. Fiona and Nele flickered into sight behind him along with Meredith, who released the icicle with a shove. The mage slumped forward and the icicle shattered when he hit the floor.
Chapter 63
“Are you OK?” Sig called to his mother.
She raised a thumb. “Much better since that S.O.B. won’t torture anyone ever again.”
As Sig turned back to the enemy wizards, a slab of ice slammed into him, knocking him across the room. His head and shoulder slammed into the wall. Black spots clouded his vision. He pushed up off the ground and spotted a sorcerer winding up a spell with sparks shooting from both hands. Before he could hurl the dark magic at Sig, Grampa scrambled to his feet and shoved his cane sword through the mage’s back—piercing his heart. The mage fell forward onto his hands and the concentrated magic exploded, ripping his body apart.
Borya had revived and joined Manuel to battle the two wizards near the elevator.
While Manuel and Borya finished off their opponents, Sig looked past the mage Grampa had slain. Beyond the smoking mage feebly crawling across the floor, Heathcoat frantically worked to complete his spell. His desperate glances revealed that the battle wasn’t going in his favor. A glow blossomed on the bottom of dark roiling clouds rising from the wooden chest.
Heathcoat smiled and stepped back. A dark form rose from the chest, breaking the sides away, as it grew through the clouds.
A hulking humanoid shape levered itself out of the remains of the box. The misshapen head had three eyes. Two were oriented normally, but a third eye sat in the center of its forehead. That eyelid remained closed while the other two eyes darted suspiciously about the room.
“Oh crap,” Grampa said.
“What?” Sig asked.
“I think he summoned Balor, king of the Fomorians—a supernatural race.”
“How will we know?”
“When that third eye opens,” Grampa said. “Balor’s eye wreaks destruction. It’s said no army can stand against it.”
The beast climbed stiffly off the table and rose and stretched until it stood a head taller than Sig. Its misshapen, muscular body was twice his breadth.
“Kill the battle wizards,” Heathcoat commanded his newest minion and pointed.
The hulking monster flung a table at Grampa. It clipped him in the shoulder and head, knocking him flat. He didn’t move.
Borya launched a spear of flame, which the hulk brushed aside. He turned his head toward Borya and the third eye opened, releasing a torrent of energy that sliced him in half and ripped a gaping hole in the elevator behind. The next building was visible through it.
Sig grabbed the table that had decked Grampa and hurled it back. Balor turned his eye on the flying table and incinerated it, blasting a hole in another wall of the building. The smoking side of a nearby skyscraper was visible through the gap blasted through several rooms in this building. Many more blasts like that and this building would become unstable. Did Balor even know they were in an aging multi-story building?
Manuel threw his sword like a spear, then dove through the stairwell doorway on his side of the room. Balor’s third eye cast an energy blast, but the sword flew through—scattering the discharge—before catching the monster in the shoulder, provoking an enraged roar. He pulled the sword free and threw it back.
Sig had charged the beast when Manuel slung his sword, but he wasn’t quick enough—not faster than an eye blink. Balor shifted his gaze. Sig’s only defense was to raise Aðalbrandr. Surprisingly Sig’s weapon deflected the beam but it ricocheted into the wall behind the monster, blowing another gaping hole. Holes in three walls, now—how much more could this old building take?
Sig sprang forward, sweeping his sword toward the beast’s neck. Balor stumbled backwards clumsily—apparently unused to playing defense. Sig blocked another daunting middle-eye blast, this time angling Aðalbrandr to splash the beam across the monster’s body. The only reaction was an angry roar. Sig hacked again, causing Balor to take another backwards lurch, closer to the hole in the wall.
A shadow covered the opening—Oleksander had arrived. He yanked Balor from the building by the scruff of the neck. Sig stepped forward toward the hole to see Oleksander’s wings pumping—raising the monster higher and higher. Balor’s head moved side-to-side, the energy beam wreaking damage across the city, but he couldn’t twist his gaze far enough to hit the dragon.
A crackling sound and the smell of ozone was the only warning before a bolt of lightning slammed into Sig—paralyzing him. As he fell, the skin on his back and shoulders blistered and his limbs twitched involuntarily. His spasms moved him closer to the ragged opening in the wall he’d fallen beside.
When the electrical blasts from Heathcoat ceased, Sig regained control of his limbs, but a flood of pain, as if his skin had been torn off, almost overwhelmed him.
A scream vibrated through the space. As it continued, rising in pitch. Sig pressed himself up to his knees and turned toward the sound.
Three witches, Fiona, Nele, and Meredith surrounded Heathcoat, muttering a spell, and blasting him with waves of magic. His body smoked and shriveled, shrinking in height but deforming and expanding sideways.
The scream cut off. Heathcoat had been replaced by a huge hairy spider, with green ooze dripping from its mandibles.
“What happened?” Fiona gasped. “He’s supposed to shrink. Not just change.”
“Too much magic,” Nele said. “He resisted the spell.”
The tarantula scuttled forward and grabbed Meredith with the two front legs—pulling her toward its jaws. Several of its eyes rotated toward Sig as he charged. The spider hissed.
Sig lopped off one of the hairy arms holding Mom. The other maintained a grip as she struggled. The spider’s fangs flexed toward her.
Sig grabbed her about the waist. Too close to Heathcoat’s spider form to stab, he punched the giant tarantula three times in its two rows of eyes. Releasing Mom, it shuffled back. As Sig set her down, the now seven-legged monster darted toward the elevator and its yawning escape hole Balor had blasted.
Sig couldn’t allow him to escape. He grabbed one of its rear legs and yanked. The leg broke free in his hand. Despite only having two legs remaining on that side, it crept down the building’s outside wall.
