his brother, that it could have missed him. But maybe her magic had deflected it.
Haltwhistle nudged into view through the haze, his hackles lowered again, his coat smooth. Things must be all right after all, she thought. She sat up slowly and smiled. “Good old Haltwhistle. I’m so sorry for not taking better care of you. I won’t do that ever again.”
The mud puppy’s beaver tail wagged eagerly as he sat down close by, but safely out of reach. If he didn’t think there was any danger, there probably wasn’t. With Thom helping, Mistaya climbed back to her feet, searching for her adversaries, the last wisps of smoke wafting away on the breeze.
Then she saw Laphroig. He was standing approximately where she had last seen him, one arm raised in the follow-through of a throwing motion, his face twisted with anger. He wasn’t moving.
Chances are he wouldn’t ever move again.
He had been turned to stone.
She looked farther around the clearing. But there was no sign of Craswell Crabbit and Rufus Pinch.
“What happened here?” Thom asked quietly.
Mistaya didn’t know. It was entirely possible, she decided, that she never would.
DEMONS AT THE GATES
Mistaya and Thom conducted a hurried search of the grounds but failed to find any trace of Crabbit and Pinch. Their complete disappearance suggested that the pair might have been vaporized or spirited away to some other corner of the Kingdom. After all, a collision of magic as powerful as those commanded by herself, His Eminence, and Haltwhistle could result in almost anything.
Nor was there much she could do about The Frog. She was not particularly adept at reversing magic spells, and the one that had turned him to stone was no exception. She decided it was best to leave him as he was and see if Questor could do anything to help.
She was about to suggest to Thom that they search within Libiris itself just to make certain Crabbit and Pinch hadn’t somehow gotten past them when a huge squalling sound from inside the building signaled that whatever the fate of those two villains, something else was clearly amiss. With Thom at her side, she charged back through the front doors toward the entry into the Stacks, tracing the cacophonous noise to its source.
They had not yet reached their destination when dozens of frantic Throg Monkeys came pouring out, flinging their arms wildly and howling as if they had lost their minds. Some few made it all the way out of the building and disappeared into the woods, but most seemed to lose their sense of direction before they reached the outside. As Mistaya and Thom entered the Stacks, they could see dozens more of the little monsters charging about, racing up and down the aisles, climbing shelving units, clinging to the ceiling rafters, and generally milling around to no recognizable purpose.
Then Mistaya saw it. From the rear of the chamber, back in the deep gloom where the wall had been broken through, a wicked crimson light was pulsing to the steady rhythm of a coarse and ominous chanting.
The demons of Abaddon were trying to break out on their own.
“Thom, stay here!” she shouted and raced down the closest aisle for the darkness ahead.
Thom apparently had no thought of obeying. He caught up with her in nothing flat.
She was furious with him and at the same time scared. He had no business going back there like this! He had risked an encounter with magic once and it had almost killed him. Now he was risking another. The demons of Abaddon would brush him aside like a fly. What was wrong with him?
Well, she knew the answer to that one before she finished the thought. He was doing it for her, because he cared for her and was trying once again to protect her. It made her chest ache with pride; it made her want to do the same for him. She increased her pace, flying through the near darkness, darting from one pool of shadows to the next, dodging errant Throg Monkeys and books that lay scattered about. All the while the air throbbed with the sound of the chanting and the invisible pulse of demon magic. She had no idea what she was going to do, only that she had better do something or all of her efforts would have been for nothing.
Her worst fears were realized as the rear wall of the Stacks came into view. The hole opened in the building wall by the theft of the books of magic and the release of their power was clearly outlined by the crimson light. The hole was enlarged anew, a torn, aching wound filled with the dark shapes of the demons and their minions, all grouped around the black-cloaked form that held the red leather book. This demon, the largest of them all, led the chanting, holding up the book to the glow of torch flames so that the others could see, crimson light leaping off the pages as the reading stole the magic of the words and turned it back against the hapless building.
