Now before the dark, p.39
Now Before the Dark, page 39
“Sign here, please,” said the imp. Having so few opportunities to show off, Sloot reached across the cosmos again and tapped Egregious Cursive. His signature appeared in flaming golden loops in the imp’s book.
“So recorded,” said the imp. He vanished in a puff of black smoke.
“And what was that meant to accomplish?” Baelgoroth chuckled.
“You are now officially not less than twelve inches tall,” said Sloot, “according to my official declaration. That makes you eligible to take part in the Razing of the Dead.”
Baelgoroth gaped at Sloot. “Is it true?”
“Go and see for yourself.”
“But how? You can’t lie to a notary!”
“Did I? I’ve never measured you. Logic dictates that if I lied about you being less than twelve inches—”
“Then I must be over!”
“Just stay away from yardsticks, will you?”
It was a gamble, but Sloot wasn’t betting on his own luck. He was betting on Baelgoroth’s greed.
“Don’t think this makes us even!” shouted Baelgoroth, as he rode Blagderos back through the rift. It closed behind them with a pop.
Sloot barely had time to notice that Mrs. Knife had vanished before he was struck from above. He barreled toward the ground beneath the weight of two dragons. If there was any space for optimism, he might have found the experience exhilarating. Alas, there was not.
Sloot managed to roll from beneath Nicoleta’s scaly flank just before the impact. He landed hard atop a broken tombstone. For nearly a minute thereafter, the air was full of dirt, debris, and smoke.
Smoke cleared, dust settled, and Sloot got to his feet. A sound rose from the rotting skeletal dragon that offended both bloodthirsty screaming and maniacal laughter by artlessly combining the two. The pink dragon lay still at its feet.
Sloot gasped. “Nicoleta!”
The pink dragon shrank and shriveled into the broken, lifeless form of Nicoleta.
Gregor’s rotten dragon form reduced to that of a rotten goblin. He stood over her, his shrieks and cackles offending the very air around him.
“Vicked,” said Bartleby, who’d floated up beside Sloot in a cloud of purple smoke.
“I can’t believe it,” Sloot replied softly.
“Vhat?”
“Nicoleta. She’s dead!”
“Again, yes.”
“What do we do now? How can we defeat Gregor without her?”
“Cower before me,” Gregor boomed, his blood star cast a murky red glow around his clawed left hand. “Victory is at hand! There shall be mercy for none!”
“Thanks for handling that mess vith the vizards,” said Bartleby. “To be honest, I vasn’t sure how ve vere going to get out of it.”
“You’re welcome,” said Sloot, “but I’m afraid we’ve got bigger problems now.”
“Just vait.” Bartleby grinned and gave Sloot a wink.
A tiny movement drew his attention back into the crater. A tiny wisp of light drifted upward from Nicoleta’s broken corpse and popped in the air. Then there was another. Two more. Five more. Seconds later, the air was effervescent with magic. Sloot had to shield his eyes as pink-hot flames engulfed her and exploded. When he could see again, it looked like someone had tied a firecracker rainbow to a joke shop skeleton, and it was erupting in slow motion. If that weren’t sufficiently terrifying, it had razor-sharp wings of steel as well.
“That’s better,” said Nicoleta. “Now, where were we?”
“She’s done it,” cried Bartleby. “She’s a lich!”
Nicoleta and Gregor flew toward each other, wands thrusting and parrying in a lightning fight that Sloot had trouble believing, despite the evidence of his eyes. He backed away, not because Captain Peril was fearful, but because he’d tactically decided against approaching bravery from a position of stupidity.
“Vicked cool, eh?” said Bartleby, backing away as well. “A vizard has to have a big death to complete the Rite of Lichery. A dragon fight against a necromancer vas just the thing.”
“Mrs. Knife!” In all the excitement, Sloot had forgotten about her. “She’s not here, where has she gone?”
“Vhere could she do the most damage?”
Sloot’s eyes went wide with horror. “What happens to a wizard’s enchantments when she dies?”
“They die as vell,” said Bartleby. “Vhy?”
“The Serpent of the Sky! Nicoleta’s enchantment was hiding it! If it’s out in the open—”
“Mrs. Knife can use it to lead the goblins anyvhere she vants. Oh, that’s bad news!”
“She’s got to be headed for her goblins. You have to warn the others!”
“Vhat vill you do?”
Sloot looked at Gregor and Nicoleta. The fury of their duel hadn’t abated in the slightest.
“I’m going to take out Gregor,” Sloot declared.
Bartleby raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry I’ll have to miss that,” she said. “Good luck!” She exploded into a colony of bats and flew off.
It seemed like ages since Sloot first visited Castle Ulfhaven. He remembered Nicoleta explaining the curse that Gregor had placed on Vlad’s grandfather. He never thought it would come in handy, yet there they were.
Nicoleta sent a bolt through Gregor’s defenses that pinned him to the ground. A howl of triumph went up from the dazzling pink lich as she descended on him, wand swinging overhead to deliver a killing blow.
“Stop!” shouted Sloot.
Nicoleta froze in midair, inches from the necromancer’s prone and bleeding form. Gregor smiled up at her, baring rows of needle-sharp teeth in defiance.
“Ignore the coward,” the necromancer laughed, the sound cutting off in a gurgling cough. “Finish me, if you can!”
The sparkling lich turned her gaze to Sloot.
“My vengeance is at hand!” she shrieked. “Give me one good reason not to—”
Forks of red lightning stabbed into Nicoleta, severing one of her arms and sending her crashing through a nearby obelisk. Gregor got to his feet, the blood star crackling with crimson energy. The necromancer laughed and turned his attention to Sloot.
“Almost enough to earn you a quick death,” he said. “Almost.” His palm twitched. The blood star rose upward and floated toward Sloot, lightning arcing from it.
“Amnesty!” shouted Sloot.
“That’s it,” Gregor chuckled, “beg me for—”
“For you,” said Sloot.
“For me? Why would I possibly need amnesty? I have the upper hand!”
“From reality.”
Gregor’s smile fell, much to Sloot’s relief. His dental neglect was truly off-putting. The blood star stopped moving.
“You were Ashkar once,” said Sloot, “isn’t that right? You made a deal with Vlad the Invader centuries ago. Exemption from reality, remember?”
Gregor nodded. “I was betrayed.”
“By another Vlad the Invader,” said Sloot. “You laid a curse on Carpathia. No one would join the army while Vlad’s lineage wore the crown. Guess what? You won.”
“Won?”
“Vlad has stepped down. The fairies rule Carpathia now.”
“I won!” Gregor cackled again. “I should celebrate. I know, I’ll hang up some garlands! Your guts should suffice.”
“I don’t doubt that you could arrange that,” said Sloot. “Or you could let me grant you that exemption properly.”
Gregor licked his lips. Sloot sincerely wished he’d had the opportunity to tear his eyes out first.
“The Invader could only do it politically,” Sloot continued. “By the power vested in me by the Coolest, I can do it properly.”
“Why should I trust you? I’ve been betrayed before.”
“I’m supposed to fix the Narrative, right? Why would I want a venomous old necromancer roaming around in it, cursing nations and settling old vendettas?”
“You give me your word, Peril? You’ll write me out of reality, once and for all?”
Sloot produced the ledger from his jacket. “The Twilight realm. It lies on the edge of Immemory, between here and the Dark. Do you know it?”
“I’ve heard of it. I thought it was a myth. They say that it’s where all things lost may be found again, things forgotten are revealed.”
“It’s no myth,” said Sloot. “I clerked for a chaos firm who sent someone there as a prank. I can tell you the way. Sign here promising never to return, help me end this conflict, and I’ll write you out of the Narrative.”
Gregor grinned. “Done.” He signed the ledger with a series of primitive runes. His true name, Sloot was sure of it.
A sparkly beam of energy sliced through Gregor without touching him.
“Nicoleta!” said Sloot.
“What?” Nicoleta looked as innocent as a one-armed, steel-winged, sparkly skeleton could while aiming a wand. “Wasn’t that the plan? Lure him into a false sense of security, and—”
“No,” said Sloot, “We have an official agreement, so don’t try to kill him again. It won’t work.”
Gregor cackled with malice and drew his wand.
“You either,” Sloot snapped. “That’ll be breach of contract, and the deal’s off. Is that what you want?”
“No,” Gregor sulked. “What happens now?”
A peal of thunder ripped through the mausoleum. The Dark churned above them.
“The Serpent of the Sky,” said Nicoleta. “We’re too late.”
Goblin Meats
They hurried from the mausoleum, Nicoleta and Gregor muttering curses at each other. Not the turn-you-into-something-nasty type, just very hurtful words. They weren’t contract-breaching offenses, so Sloot left it alone.
The gruesome squawking of the goblin organ drifted in at the edge of Sloot’s hearing. It meant his friends were still alive, which was good, but he couldn’t help wishing the awful noise would stop just the same.
There was a crash, and the organ went silent. Of all the times for Sloot’s wishes to come true!
Unfortunately for Captain Peril, he still ran like Sloot. An impromptu arrangement of knees and elbows that was late for something.
There were goblins everywhere. Sloot caught a glimpse of Mrs. Knife disappearing among them, their eyes meeting just long enough for it to be weird.
The fairies held the line at the door, though the sheer weight of the goblins was pushing them back. The toothy devils cackled as they poured into the chapel past the fairy defense. Myrtle, Greta, and Franka managed to put down most of the stragglers.
Vlad ably dodged attacks from a few goblins in such a way that they ended up hurting themselves or their comrades, proving the best offense was good self-defense.
“My music,” Igor moaned. He fiddled in vain with a ruptured pipe on the ruined organ. “Oh, what’s the use? I can’t fix it! My talents couldn’t lie farther from ‘fixing!’”
Gregor and Nicoleta rushed into the room, more concerned with which of them arrived first than jumping into the fight.
“What’s happening here?” shouted Nicoleta.
“—pening here?” echoed Gregor, not wanting to be outdone.
“The goblins,” said Sloot, “and Mrs. Knife is here somewhere. We’ve got to do something!”
“Vell, if it isn’t little Kitten Bear!” Bartleby taunted.
“Restrain yourself,” Gregor sneered.
“Sloot, did I ever tell you vhy ve called him Kitten Bear?”
“It’s not the time!” snapped Sloot. “Gregor, you’re a goblin, can you—”
“My host is a goblin.”
“Fine. Can you speak to them?”
“And say what?”
“Anything,” said Sloot, “just stall them long enough for me to think!”
Gregor flicked his wand in the goblins’ direction. The ones in front stopped fighting, bent over at the waist, and broke wind in unison. If the stench was anything like the volume, Sloot was sure there would be casualties.
“Hold, please!” shouted Dandelion from among his troops.
One of the goblins chattered something. The rest grunted in response.
“What was that?” asked Sloot.
“The congress has been called to order,” Igor translated.
Goblin anthropologists have often remarked on the truly disgusting nature of congressional practices. Every last goblin in a congress is a deeply disgusting creature of darkness who has a higher regard for his or her own flatulence than anything important.
“It will only take a moment for them to realize that there’s no pile of rotten meat for them to devour,” said Gregor. “Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast.”
“There are too many of them to fight,” said Greta, sweat streaming down her face, grime smearing her dented armor.
“Not that we won’t go down swinging,” said Franka. She pulled a strip of fabric from her cape and tied it around a wound on her forearm.
“Tell them we’ll pay their debt,” said Sloot.
“What debt?”
“They had an alliance with humans ages ago,” said Sloot. “They—we—were greedy. We got rich while they got cast into the Dark.”
“That’s not fair,” said Lilacs. He hovered over Sloot’s shoulder, eyeing Gregor suspiciously.
“Big deal,” said Bartleby. “Vars have vinners and losers. I’ve seen loads of them in my day.”
“True,” said Sloot, “but the winners are supposed to make a place for the losers. They get to live in peace under a new flag. Nobody offered that to the goblins.”
“They’re goblins,” said Nicoleta. “They’re vile abominations! They don’t have souls, they don’t deserve mercy!”
“It’s a good thing I know you’re not a despot,” said Sloot, “because you’re doing a remarkable impression.”
They all stood in silence for a moment. Well, not silence, but what passed for it considering the agitated growling of an angry congress with no pile of rotting meat.
“Gregor,” said Sloot, “tell them they can come with you into the Twilight.”
“What? That wasn’t part of the deal! I don’t want to live with them!”
“The Twilight is vast, you’ll never see them. Besides, there’s enough forgotten stuff in there to keep them occupied for ages. They won’t even care that you’re there.”
“Perhaps,” moaned Gregor, “but—”
“But nothing,” declared Captain Peril, “this is the deal! You agreed to help end this conflict, and this is how we do it.”
Gregor sneered. Everyone else took up defensive positions, but not Sloot. He looked Gregor straight in the eyes. Captain Peril did not flinch.
Gregor turned to the congress and barked something that sounded like a bear with a cold clearing its throat.
“What’s he saying?” Sloot whispered to Igor.
“He said, ‘hear me make mouth talk at you face.’”
The goblins turned their heads to Gregor, regarding him with what seemed to Sloot like bewilderment.
“Is his goblish bad, or is yours?”
“We both speak perfect goblish, don’t be judgy.”
“Sorry.”
Igor went on to translate Gregor saying, “for what bad men do you, that man sad.” Gregor pointed at Sloot. “Him want give meat. Meat in dark place, not Dark. Me take you. Come now.”
Amusement, malice, and lunacy collaborated on a laugh that represented them all equally. Behind it, Mrs. Knife descended from the shadows, landing atop Vlad and pinning her to the ground with a knife through the shoulder. She pointed another knife at Gregor and turned it in a slow circle.
“You’ll do no such thing,” she said. She gave her knife a twist in Vlad’s shoulder.
“Don’t,” said Sloot, his palm extended in Greta’s direction. “She knows you’re behind her, she’ll kill Vlad.”
“Let her go,” Greta spat from between clenched teeth. Mrs. Knife’s response was another twist of the knife. Vlad’s face was a mask of serenity, the sort parents keep handy for when toddlers reveal embarrassing truths at volume.
“Gregor,” sang Mrs. Knife, “be a dear and end the lives of all these interlopers, will you? Hey!”
A burst of pink sparks knocked the knife from her hand. A second obliterated the knife altogether.
“An enchanted knife,” said Nicoleta. “How long has she been commanding you with that?”
“Far too long,” said Gregor. He cackled and raised his wand.
“No,” said Sloot. “Nobody else dies today!”
Mrs. Knife howled with laughter. “Promise them the moon, too! This one dies as soon as I will it. And then I’ll get revenge against the dwarves!”
Mrs. Knife gnashed her teeth and grumbled at the goblins.
“Eat that flesh,” Igor translated, “eat all up! Then eat dwarves too, with me! Am queen of you!”
Sloot turned to Nicoleta. “Can you open a portal?”
“To where?”
“Halfway between the Slumbering Horizon and the Cave Where All Whispers Are True. That’s the entrance to the Twilight.”
“Ha! Right under my nose this whole time.” She waved her wand in a pattern like three bunnies planning a robbery. A shimmering portal came into view. Beyond it was a sunset that started with amber and passed through purple on its way to indigo.
The goblins regarded it in stunned silence. Nobody moved.
Sloot thought a swear word. It isn’t working! We’ve failed!
Igor shouted something in goblish and pointed at Sloot. Several of the goblins looked at each other, shrugged, and started leaping into the portal.
“No!” shouted Mrs. Knife. She shouted something in goblish which elicited a few cackles from the goblins as they rushed passed her. A few of them chittered something at her in passing.
“What did you say to them?” asked Sloot.
