counting on it, in fact. She turned to peer into the darkened end of the chamber. The stasis sphere from long ago, resurrected and refurbished, awaited Old Meddler there. She hoped that phase of Varthlokkur’s scheme worked out.
Ethrian said, “Al we can do is wait.”
She agreed. “We wait.”
“Not long,” the Old Man said. “And this time wil make an end.”
...
Old Meddler finished instructing the demons that would attack Fangdred. Thirteen would go, in two waves, none pleased to be involved. They expected nothing good to come of this. Great demons had died already. Dead, for real and forever. That did not happen on this plane. Not credibly. Never before.
The old vil ain had constrained them completely, however. They could do nothing but go forward and execute his wil , so long as he survived. And he had made sure they could not seize on that loophole, even by aiding his enemies through inaction.
They would go, those lords of the demon plane, carrying two iron statues, neither of those especial y overwhelming.
They would attack Fangdred. Some would get hurt, perhaps badly. He had not lied to them about that. But he was confident that they would end this latest threat for al time.
His ka would go with them while his flesh remained in the Karkha Tower. Demons would come for his flesh once Fangdred fel and its thousand booby traps had been disarmed. He would then appropriate the magic of Varthlokkur and his bitch Tervola al y. Both would be invaluable in ages to come.
He settled himself, left his flesh, entered the smal ish demon that would carry his consciousness northward. They set out.
Scout demons soon reached the Dragon’s Teeth. They were linked to al the others. What one saw, al could see.
The scouts were particularly important. Fangdred’s exact location remained mysterious.
Yes, Old Meddler had been there before but Fangdred was hidden now, behind sorcery of both Dread Empire weaving and of Varthlokkur’s creation. A visual search was unavoidable.
Last time a furious storm was raging. This time the sky was nearly cloudless, though there was moisture in the air that captured and scattered the light of a moon that was almost ful . Only the brightest stars stood out, against a background that was blue indigo rather than black.
The demon scouts stood out, too, as bleak absences of light snaking about like serpents swimming, dragon- size, sniffing for Fangdred’s unnatural warmth. The enemy would not betray himself with outside lights.
There. A fierce peak where stone had been shaped and piled by Man.
The scouts circled, waiting for the rest of their wave. Old Meddler eased in closer, wondering if he had not found the hidden fortress too easily. Were they trying to lure him in?
He encountered a limit beyond which his demon steed could not pass.
No. Definitely not trying to lure him. But they knew he was coming. And they had not run. They meant to make a stand.
They did want him to attack, maybe to spend his strength getting through to them.
He prowled and probed. He would give them what they wanted. They could not survive the power he had brought to the game.
There was a momentary lapse in Fangdred’s protection.
He darted through, only beginning to feel uncomfortable after he had. Had they let him in?
No. Someone had used a transfer portal. Evidently the barrier had to go down while that happened.
His vision grew fuzzy nearer the fortress. He approached cautiously, wondering why he was afraid. He doubted that he could be done any harm. Should his guide be hurt he could just break loose and be pul ed back to his flesh.
He aimed for the Wind Tower, which rose above the bulk of the improbable fortress. His demon could not penetrate solid stone but it found a place where a lack of mortar would let it slide a tendril between blocks. Old Meddler took his consciousness through, crawling along that slender thread. The viewing inside was more vague and distorted, stil . He pul ed demon, stretched demon, took his consciousness down a floor, then drew back and went up to the level where his enemies had gathered.
What? No! This could not be!
The Old Man pushed a shogi piece forward. The Deliverer made a comment about the move.
Lord Kuo Wen-chin shrugged and shook his head sadly.
The bitch Tervola looked almost directly at Old Meddler’s viewpoint, frowning, as though sensing something uncertain. Beyond her the specter of the salt trader’s son stirred and said something possibly cautionary.
So many dead men. That Matayangan… But the Old Man was the worst. Because of him this might yet get dicey indeed.
Varthlokkur stood surrounded by glowing symbols. Old Meddler spied dark worms representing each of his demons—including the one limpeted to the outside of the Wind Tower, permitting him this access. The second wave would arrive before long.
There was no sound. He could not hear what the wizard shouted. His henchmen crowded in to see what had him excited—which was not, as Old Meddler supposed, the proximity of the demon that he himself rode.
The wizard’s wand tapped four viciously bril iant points of light moving through the Winterstorm, two toward the shadow dragons swarming outside Fangdred, one toward the squadron in transit, while the last and most intense streaked toward Throyes.
The bitch Tervola, facing his direction, mouthed, “It’s Shih-ka’i! The sneaky bastard brought the last four shafts up from Matayanga. He must have started them moving weeks ago.”
Old Meddler did not know what that meant but he was sure that it boded no good for the Star Rider.
He began to pul back. To get out. Not because he was in danger here but because danger was afoot somewhere else and he ought to be there to handle it. He had a huge crew about to deal with this place.
He had entered a trap after al , but not a crafted one.
The barrier was back. He and the lead troop were inside.
He had to get out.
How?
He would have to wait out the first squadron’s attack. That should open the way.
Points of blinding light came out of the south at a velocity almost unimaginable. The barrier troubled them not at al .
Each found a demon carrying an iron statue. Blinding blasts of light, separated by a second, shredded the night. They boiled snow off the mountains below. They set both demons aflame. The iron statues, molten on one side, fel away. The explosions threw off blazing sub-munitions like the biggest fireworks ever created. Those took out several other demons. The sky over the Dragon’s Teeth fil ed with burning serpents but Old Meddler’s demon was not among them.
An identical firework burst in the distance, amidst the second wave.
The violence here cracked Fangdred’s barrier. Old Meddler’s demon dashed through and headed south.
There had been four points of light moving through the Winterstorm. The brightest was headed for Throyes.
He had stumbled into an ambush that even surprised his enemies. Varthlokkur and the bitch Tervola had had something else entirely in mind, he was sure.
What had they been waiting for? Knowing that he was coming?
The Old Man was with her. That would be root and core and foundation of al his difficulties, now and forevermore.
He might not make it through this time.
The dead might pul him down.
He was surprised at how much he wanted to go on living, even after ages of pain and disappointment.
His demon ripped past the second squad. Four were on fire. He sent the strongest cal he could: Abandon everything and come with me!
Despair. His consciousness was out here. But his body was…
