Divine Hammer

the quasitas swarmed down upon the arena.

CHAPTER 12

“Get up!” Tavarre shouted.

He was on one knee beside Sir Barlan, who still lay senseless after the melee. The old Solamnic didn’t move. Sir Erias was staggering, weary, hurt, but managed to bring up his blunted sword all the same. A few other knights, Tithian among them, had come to the edge of the sands, drawn by the sounds of the crowd. The cheers had turned to shrieks, the stomping of feet into panicked flight as everyone leaped up from the benches and tried to get away. Children were crying, their parents shouting and cursing. A few fights broke out where the shoving got out of control. Up in the gallery, people were trying to drag Leciane away while Wentha bent down, helping Beldinas rise.

Just then the quasitas dove, wings tucked in close, clawed fingers flexed, jagged fangs jutting from their howling mouths. Cathan ran for his shield, scooping it out of the sand, then lifting it up. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tavarre do likewise. One of the little beasts hit his shield hard, talons scrabbling, long tail flicking drops of venom everywhere.

He shook the shield, beating at it with his tourney sword, and with a crunch the quasito fell away, one wing bent at a sickening angle, dripping yellowish blood. It sprawled on the sand, then got to its stubby feet and whirled, claws slashing the air as it rushed at him. He met its charge with steel, hammering it in the breastbone with the broken tip of his blade, then hacking into its skull as it doubled over. The quasito squealed-a helpless, childlike sound-and unraveled before Cathan’s eyes, its pallid flesh turning to black smoke and dissipating on the breeze.

The beast’s death screech ringing in his ears, Cathan looked to the other knights.

Tavarre was beset but holding his own, surrounded by quasitas. Sir Erias was laying about, fighting three of the beasts at once. Lord Barlan …

They were all over Lord Barlan-clawing and biting, tearing pieces of armor away to get at flesh. Cathan winced at the spreading red stain beneath the old knight’s body.

“Boy!” he shouted to Tithian, who stood gaping, his face pale. “Bring my sword! Get Ebonbane! Tell the others-”

It nearly ended for him there, a stinger missing his face by inches as a quasito swooped overhead. He pulled back, then followed through with a looping swing that all but smashed the creature in two. It fell, limp, turning to smoke before it hit the ground. A second fiend followed right behind, but managed to bank away from Cathan’s stroke, its feline eyes blazing with madness.

Sir Erias was not so lucky. Two more creatures had joined the three he was already fighting, and while he managed to turn one of them into a greasy black cloud, the numbers were too many and he was too spent. He went down with a bellow, the beasts piling on top of him. Cathan took two steps toward him, raising his sword, but before he could get there Erias’s voice rose to a high, thin cry, then choked off. He thrashed once, then lay still. The quasitas ripped at his body, cackling and baying.

Sickened, Cathan looked up to the gallery, expecting to see nothing but blood and mayhem. But no-it was untouched. The quasitas weren’t even bothering with the Kingpriest, his sister, or the other dignitaries. The Lattakayans elsewhere in the stands were also safe for the time being. The focus of the attack was on the knights-who were pouring onto the sand from all sides now, limping and exhausted, most of them still armed with their tourney weapons.

He understood, then, as he watched the men of the Divine Hammer take up the fight.

Whoever had planned this attack had thought it out well, knowing that after the tourney the knights would be worn out, vulnerable, poorly armed. Even sturdy Sir Marto staggered to wield his heavy axe. He roared curses in Old Karthayan as he struck down one demon after another. Beside him, Sir Pellidas fought in silence.

Another quasito flew at Cathan, chittering madly. He hit it with the rim of his shield, and it fell away, stunned. Still another grabbed at the shard of his tourney sword, its sharp teeth clamping down on what remained of the blade. He jerked the weapon hard, slicing through the monster’s head, but more of the blade shattered, leaving him with a jagged stump, barely longer than a dagger. He spat a curse, fighting on with the ruined blade.

When Tithian tapped his shoulder, he nearly brained the youth where he stood.

Whipping around, he swore as he saw what his former squire held: Ebonbane, the bits of white porcelain gleaming on its hilt. The lad carried his own sword, too. Cathan dropped his ruined weapon and grabbed Ebonbane from Tithian’s hand, baring its blade and flinging the scabbard away.

No sooner had he done so than three more quasitas descended upon them. He and Tithian sent them howling back to the Abyss. The knight to his left, however, was not so lucky. Barbed stingers dug into the small of his back, and he crumpled without a sound.

The quasitas stung him again and again, and he went stiff as their venom overwhelmed him. Only then did Cathan recognize Sir Pellidas “No!” he shouted. He kicked one of the quasitas in the face, feeling the satisfying crunch of his boot shattering the monster’s misshapen nose, before it dissolved into smoke. A roar of grief and rage told him Marto had seen his friend fall as well. The big knight went berserk, anguish replenishing his strength. Marto’s beaked axe became a whirlwind, striking around him so wildly that nearby knights backed away, afraid he might mistakenly kill them too. Smoke danced around him as the quasitas fell.

It didn’t matter how many the Divine Hammer killed, however. For every demon that perished, another materialized. The sky overhead was filthy with them, wheeling to join their fellows. The knights, meanwhile, had no reinforcements, and more and more of them were dying. Dozens lay on the sand now, twitching or motionless. Blood darkened the ground. The screeching of the quasitas mingled with the Lattakayans’ cries of terror as they fled the arena.

Cathan looked up at the gallery. It was nearly empty now, most of the courtiers having fled. A few recognizable figures remained: Wentha, Quarath, Suvin, Leciane in her red robes … and there, at the edge of the balcony, a figure cloaked in silver light, rubies sparkling on his brow.

“Damn it, Beldyn,” Cathan swore under his breath. “Do something!”

Gibbering, a winged form arrowed toward him from above. Cathan turned to face it, Ebonbane flashing in his hand.

Leciane watched Beldinas, who seemed frozen. Quarath and Suvin still held her fast, gripping her arms, but they had stopped trying to drag her from the gallery. They all stared in horror into the pit of the arena, at the carnage the quasitas were making of the flower of Istar’s chivalry. Even Leciane, who had no training at arms, could tell that it was developing into a bloodbath.

“Holiness, they’re dying!” Wentha shouted, tears flooding eyes that were wide with fear.

“You have to stop this!”

Beldinas nodded dully but still made no move. His strange, blue eyes stayed fixed on the arena, narrowed oddly, as if someone had just made an unexpected move against him in a game of khas. Wentha shook his shoulder.

Slowly, he nodded and looked down upon the scene. Screams filled the air as the quasitas swooped and dived and killed. His mouth a hard line, the Lightbringer signed the triangle and spread his hands over the slaughter. Closing his eyes, he began to pray.

“Palado, tas cribo fanam adolas. Tis inibam spollud bid tas pilo…”

Paladine, thy touch, is a bane to evil. Destroy this darkness with thy light…

At first, nothing happened, and Leciane thought the god had ignored him. Then a strange new sound arose: a crystalline chiming that swelled with every heartbeat, drowning out the din of battle. It grew so loud that Wentha clapped her hands over her ears, and Leciane pulled away from the clerics and cringed. Light began to pour from Beldinas’s fingers, first in drops the size of silver coins, then in pulsing streams. The air about the gallery rippled, as it might on a summer’s day.