ruler.'
In response, the demon spat out a head. It splattered through the blood which sprawled across the floor in front of the demon, rolled across the skull-pattern tiles of the Hall of Time and came to rest at the Witchlord's feet. Its eyes had been sucked out, and the hair stripped from the scalp. Through the ragged flesh, bone shone bloody-green in the cold-burning demon-light.
Lord Onosh started involuntarily.
For his part, Sken-Pitilkin started not, for he had expected some kind of insult from the demon. As Lord Onosh began a fresh and windy declaration of his powers and prerogatives, Sken-Pitilkin drew aside the dwarf Glambrax.
'Glambrax,' said Sken-Pitilkin. 'You have an axe.'
'Yes,' said the dwarf. 'But there is a great body of rock between me and our enemy Sod.'
'So I have noticed,' said Sken-Pitilkin. 'However… there was anciently a great and noble sport known as dwarf-tossing.'
'So I have heard,' said Glambrax gravely. 'But if you are in a mood to toss someone, then why not a full-born warrior?'
'Because,' said Sken-Pitilkin, 'I am close to exhausted, and there scarcely remains to me the power to move even one of compact build.'
'Then perhaps one of larger build will consent to be selectively amputated so that the tossing of him becomes a feat within your capabilities,' said Glambrax.
These uncompromising words made it plaint that the dwarf was in no mood to be tossed. So Sken-Pitilkin said:
'If you will not exploit your natural advantages to attack
Sod where he stands, then we are doomed to be overcome by the Guardians, and slaughtered to the last man. Your mother will die likewise. If you will not exert your blade for my sake, or your own sake, or that of Witchlord and Weaponmaster, then think at least of your mother.'
At this, there was an outbreak of uproar from the stairway at the far end of the Hall of Time. Both Glambrax and Sken-Pitilkin turned, expecting to see a horde of bloodthirsty Guardians storming into the Hall. But the noise died down without consequence.
'Thodric Jarl holds the stairs for us,' said Sken-Pitilkin.
'For the moment. But he cannot hold forever.'
'Then,' said Glambrax, 'let me arm myself with further blades, and I will permit myself to be tossed.'
'Here is a knife,' said Sken-Pitilkin, producing the small blade which he habitually used for peeling apples and cleaning out pipes.
Then the sagacious wizard of Skatzabratzumon busied himself with the job of persuading further blades from the possession of the nearest warriors. So, by the time Lord Onosh had given up all efforts to persuade the demon of Safrak to his cause, Glambrax was ready to be tossed.
'Are you ready?' said Sken-Pitilkin, picking Glambrax up by the scruff of the neck.
'What are you doing?' said Glambrax, in alarm.
'I am weighing you,' said Sken-Pitilkin, setting the dwarf back on his feet.
'Weighing me!' said Glambrax. 'I thought you had wizardry for that!'
'So I do, so I do,' said Sken-Pitilkin. 'But my powers of wizardry are almost exhausted. Besides, the muscular methods are often the best. Are you ready?'
'No!' said Glambrax, who had been unsettled by Sken-Pitilkin's lifting of him.
'Then hold tight!' said Sken-Pitilkin, who was deaf to the word 'no'.
With that, the wizard of Skatzabratzumon levitated the dwarf.
Up he went. The demon Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis roared at the dwarf, and lashed out at him with tentacles of near-invisible green liquidity.
Glambrax yelled, betrayed by involuntary terror.
But Sken-Pitilkin paid no heed to the dwarf's yelling. The wizard jacked the dwarf upwards until his back was brushing the living rock from which the Hall of Time was carved. Then the wizard slid the dwarf along that living rock.
'I'm scraping!' yelled Glambrax in alarm. Sken-Pitilkin, who thought it better for the dwarf to be scraped than to be torn apart by the demon, slid the mannikin yet further. Glambrax was right above the demon. Which spat at him, sending globets of blood flying into his face.
'Ha!' roared Lord Onosh. 'It can't reach him! Good work,
Pitilkin!'Sken-Pitilkin made no reply to this applause, for he was close to losing the dwarf.
'Hold tight!' yelled Sken-Pitilkin.
Then used his last energies in a single burst, hurling the dwarf toward the stairs at the rear of the demon.
Glambrax hurtled toward the stairs, landing heavily. For a moment, Sken-Pitilkin thought the dwarf had been broken. Then Glambrax stood up – groggily. Immediately, Sod charged the shaken dwarf.
'Swords!' roared Lord Onosh, making as if to hurl his own weapon.
The demon filled the air with a blurring lash-work of nearinvisible tentacles. The air hissed with the sound of its scything tentacles.
'No!' yelled Sken-Pitilkin, striking down the Witchlord's weapon with his country crook. 'No swords! Don't arm the demon!'
'But,' said Lord Onosh, 'but you said, we said – '
'We spoke of axing Sod,' said Sken-Pitilkin, 'but I at least have had time to think since then.'
'But,' said Lord Onosh, 'but – '
But it was too late to argue, for Sod was already locked in combat with the dwarf Glambrax. Strength against strength they matched each other. Then Sod went down! Hacked in the kneecap!
'Aha!' yelled Glambrax, in triumph.
The dwarf hacked at Sod's boot, sinking his axeblade deep into the Banker's foot. As Sod thrashed and screamed, Glambrax positioned himself for a head-lopping stroke.
Then the demon acted.
With all other weapons exhausted, and with the combatants well out of reach of its thrashing tentacles, the demon used its last resource.
It hurled Guest Gulkan himself through the air, skittling the axe-wielding dwarf, and slamming both Guest and Glambrax hard against the stairs – slamming them home with such force that Sken-Pitilkin thought them surely dead.
Sod got to his feet.
Slowly.
Painfully.
He recovered his sword. Guest and Glambrax made futile twitching efforts. Both were stunned, or ruptured, or paralysed, or terminally broken.
With great labor, Sod began to limp toward them, with murder his intent.
'My son!' said the Witchlord.
Then Lord Onosh made as if to advance, and had to be physically restrained by the more level-headed of his warriors.
And Sod took yet another step toward Guest and Glambrax, whose doom looked near certain.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Icaria Scaria Iva-Italis: a demon incarnate in a square-cut jade-green pillar standing twice man-height, a pillar which glows with its own cold inner light. The demon has served the Safrak
Bank for generations as Guardian Prime – ruler of the Bank's mercenaries – and Keeper of the Inner Sanctum.
