she was afraid it would give out beneath her. She heard the demons snarling and scrabbling on the stone floor behind her. Ahead, Uldane was racing toward the door as the other group of demons stalked forward. Fortunately, those demons saw no reason to rush forward when their prey was apparently running right into their waiting jaws.
Uldane reached the door, pushed it open, and looked inside, then planted himself in the doorway. His eyes widened as he looked back at Shara, and before he could shout a warning Shara dived into a roll. A demon sailed over her, jerking in midair as Uldane’s dagger bit into it. Shara somersaulted to her feet and sliced the demon half open before it hit the ground. She vaulted over its corpse, then she was in the doorway with Uldane.
“Thanks,” she said, panting.
“Uh …”
“Check out this door,” Shara said. “I’ll hold them back.”
The halfling stepped back as the first wave of demons crashed upon her. She lost herself in the rhythm of slaughter, no longer feeling any pain, though her sword seemed to grow heavier with each swing. The demons that had been at the other end of the hall reached the doorway as well, and Shara was pleased to see some of them batting claws at demons from the other group, as if competing for this choice prey.
“It’s strong,” Uldane said. “There’s a bar on this side, and a heavy table and some other things we can pile against it.”
“Is there any other way out?”
Uldane paused, swallowed hard, and said, “No.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Shara said. “It’s all we have. Get ready to close it.”
She hacked around at the arc of demons in front of her, causing just enough pain and confusion to buy the space she needed. Then she stepped back and leaped to the side, and Uldane pushed the door closed with a solid slam. She heard claws scrabble against the wood as she helped Uldane maneuver the bar into place, but the door held.
She rested the point of her sword on the floor and allowed herself a deep breath as she looked around the little room. It had evidently once been an office or study, with a large work table and a couple of low bookshelves, now empty. A tapestry hung on the wall, so discolored with mildew and stains that she couldn’t tell what it depicted. Uldane was making a circuit of the room, checking the walls for any secret doors and gingerly lifting the tapestry to make sure it didn’t hide another door.
A heavy body slammed against the door, and it buckled slightly. With a glance at Uldane, Shara went to the table and started shoving it toward the door. It was heavy, and she was more tired than she’d been willing to admit, but with Uldane’s help she managed to tip it across the doorway, and the next time a demon slammed into the door the table kept it from buckling at all.
“I need to rest,” Shara said. Without waiting for a response from Uldane, she slid her sword into the sheath on her back and slumped to the floor. She shrugged out of her backpack and rummaged inside until she found a roll of bandages, then she gingerly removed the armor that covered her injured leg.
“We need a new plan,” Uldane said. He started shoving against one of the low bookcases, inching it toward the door.
“Saving Quarhaun seems to be off the table.” She frowned. The thought stung more than she thought it should.
“It does seem a little less urgent than saving ourselves.” Uldane scowled at the bookcase, which was about as tall as he was. “I think I’ll wait until you can help me with this.”
Shara cleaned the blood away from the wounds on her knee and lower leg and examined them carefully. There was an angry redness to her skin around each cut that caused her some concern. She remembered Vestapalk commanding his demonic minions to go forth and spread the abyssal plague, and she washed the wounds again, wincing in pain as she scrubbed at the torn flesh. But for all the wounds hurt, they weren’t going to kill or cripple her.
So I’ll be able to stand when the demons finally get through the door, she thought.
She looked around the little room again. “I don’t want to die here,” she said. “I’m not ready.”
“Shara-”
“Not while that damned dragon is still alive. If I don’t kill him, who’s going to? How many more people is he going to kill?”
A look of terrible pain contorted Uldane’s face, but it passed quickly, as it always did. The halfling seemed immune to grief, sadness, and anger-no negative emotion could hold him for long. “You know,” he said, sitting down next to Shara, “I keep thinking about that day. The fight with the dragon was horrible. But the part I like to remember is the time just before the fight. When we knew we were getting close. I remember you teasing Jarren, making light of the danger. I remember the way he looked at you, the love in his eyes. Borojon chided you two for dawdling on the path, and scolded Cliffside for making so much noise.”
Tears ran down Shara’s face. She had thought of that day countless times, but all she could remember was the horror; the dragon’s jaws clamped on her father’s shoulder; the sickening sound as the dragon literally tore Cliffside apart; the sight of Jarren, her love, looking over the cliff as she and Uldane fell toward the river; the dragon looming over Jarren’s shoulder. Vestapalk might as well have torn out her heart that day, and the only joy she’d felt since had been when she thought the dragon was dead.
But Vestapalk wasn’t dead. And the thought that a swarm of demons might prevent her from killing him was more than she could bear.
“I guess what I’m saying,” Uldane said, “is that maybe you’d feel better if you try to think about the good times that you and Jarren spent together, instead of dwelling so much on the pain of having lost him.”
Shara wiped her eyes. “It’s been so long, Uldane. Sometimes I can barely remember the good times-as though my pain is all I have left of him.”
“Don’t do that, Shara. He was a good man, a good friend. He deserves better memories.”
Shara wrapped a bandage around her knee in silence, trying to dredge up happier thoughts of Jarren.
“I remember the first time I snuck his lucky coin from his pouch,” Uldane said. “He got so mad he could hardly speak, and his face was so red I couldn’t help but laugh!”
Shara smiled. “He got used to it soon enough.”
“I made sure he did.” Uldane’s laughter bubbled out again, high and infectious.
A renewed scrabbling at the door wiped the smiles from their faces. “Let’s get that bookcase to the door now,” Shara said.
The scratching sounds continued this time, as if the demons were determined to dig through, or under, the door. With Uldane’s help, Shara got one of the bookcases-made from hard, heavy wood-in place behind the table, strengthening their barricade. As they started toward the next bookcase, though, the sounds on the other side of the door changed. Yowls of fury or pain started up, then the scratching at the door stopped. The howling grew louder, and Shara heard the ring of steel and a blast of fire.
“Perhaps we’re not going to die here after all,” she said.
“Is it Quarhaun?” Uldane asked brightly.
“I don’t know.” She went to the door and pulled at the bookcase they’d just put in place. “But someone’s fighting out there, and now that I’ve caught my breath I think I’d like to be a part of that.”
“You never put the armor back on your leg.”
“It’s full of tooth holes anyway.” She dragged the table a few feet back, walked around it, and pressed her ear to the door.
A fight was definitely going on. She heard weapons thudding into flesh, the snarls and howls of the demons, and what might have been speech in a language she didn’t understand, full of sibilant sounds and low rumbling vowels. More sounds of erupting fire and a crack of lightning suggested that at least one spellcaster was present at well. “It might be Quarhaun,” she said, half to herself, and she lifted the bar from the door and opened it just enough to peek out.
Quarhaun was there, his black eldritch blade crackling with lightning in his hand. His newfound allies were lizardfolk-tall and burly warriors with reptilian heads and long tails, wielding mostly clubs and maces of bone and stone. Angry orange crests adorned the tops of their heads, and their bodies were covered with fine green scales.
“Shara!” the drow warlock called.
