Allton felt the meshes and lines of dark force that flowed and held the pocket of created space together. Without conscious volition, he knew the spaces and distances. Allton was, after all, one of the greatest of dweomercraefters; only a handful of spell-binders anywhere surpassed him. One was here. Mordenkainen worked elsewhere, as did Tenser, the one who had sent Allton. None of the dark ones other than Gravestone came close to his power. Sigildark had approached the mark, but that one was no more. Bigby was perhaps on a par. There was one of awful weal who was likewise, and one of chaos far to the west. There were none other than that.
Allton's many talents included knowledge of energies, and thus he knew now what was surrounding him. Gravestone's sudden disappearance and reappearance stood out plainly to the mage's mind. Allton saw the means used, the currents of power tapped, and the distortions that indicated reshaping and continued usage. This was the same talent that had made it possible for him to trace Sigildark so easily. It was the reason he had been the one chosen to accompany the champion.
He could utilize Gravestone's own forces here, but only if he were allowed time. Somehow the demonurgist had duped Allton, lulled him into a mental stupor while calling forth the demons, but aside from that, the mage's skill was such that the demonurgist would be hard pressed to contend with him even on his own demi-plane. With the aid of Timmil, Allton thought he could best the priest-wizard. But he needed time! Now two terrible demons confronted them, and there was no time to study the energies here, to plan, to seize and reshape the surging forces and reshape them to his will. Nevertheless, Allton had his staff. That would serve as a conduit of sorts. Together with his chosen spells and the many tokens of magical containment he carried, he was armed well enough to withstand the demon who came for him. He could hold out, stand under the siege, until help in the form of the champion arrived.
'I abjure the evil, turn back the nether, set forth a barrier for all time between Right and Oppression, the Natural and Malign!' Timmirs words rang clearly through the strange atmosphere of Gravestone's place. The priest was calling for a protection against all wickedness, and of course that included the many-eyed Shabriri.
'I confound all evil power and strengthen that which resists its purposes,' the great high priest continued, and as he spoke the air began to shimmer around him. Somehow the forces of his own calling were coalescing here, even though it was a place of darkest evil. 'All who strive against the wrongfulness will prosper and strike true. All wicked ones will falter and grow weak.' Timmil recited the chant rapidly, but it came from his heart. The innate powers he possessed were sufficient to keep Shabriri off for just long enough for him to complete the work. It included Allton positively and Pazuzeus negatively. It was then that the demon struck, for Shabriri was now sure of exactly what his human foe was doing.
'A petty nusiance, priest!' Shabriri roared as he sent forth his attack. It was a withering blast of negativity, a death force meant to turn Timmil into a husk.
Coruscating ebony vomited from the ancient demon's mouth. It came toward Timmil in a broad gout, but it failed to harm him. The null-stuff of the demon's assault splattered as if it were indeed vomit, then ran to the ground like electricity, disappearing with a sharp, explosive crack. The high priest's defenses and the protective power of his abjuration defeated Shabriri's force.
It was merely the first exchange of the first round of a duel to the death, and well Timmil knew that. The cleric understood clearly what had happened. How their foe, Gravestone, had distracted their attention, used his power here to mask his true actions, as he delayed Allton and Timmil with seeming willingness to avoid conflict. Because the two had meant to prevent just such a summoning as Gravestone had accomplished, and to fix him to a spot in order to slay the demonurgist, the task the priest-wizard had managed was, in retrospect, not surprising.
Yet now they were in real trouble. He and Allton had seriously underestimated their enemy. Timmil hoped the mage would know the forms of attack that Pazuzeus could employ as well as Timmil himself knew them — and the abilities of Shabriri. It could be said that the high priest was very much the antithesis of Gravestone, for Timmil was an exorcist, abjurer of evil and demonkind, exiler of netherbeings from the realms of mankind. The demonurgist had known his name. The hideous expression apparent on Shabriri's visage as he drew near showed Timmil that the elder demon now knew who and what the high priest was.
'My apologies, demon. I shall not trouble you with petty nuisances again.' Timmil said, as the monstrous being strained to break through the barrier that the cleric had created to hedge himself from the demon. 'Is this better?' From Timmil's staff came a golden halo, a thing of light no larger than a finger ring. It floated for a split second, then shot toward the demon, growing from bracelet-size to the circumference of a large man's waist as it flew. Shabriri cursed and ducked, swatting at the shining stuff. He touched it, and the gold flickered, dimmed and went out. More were issuing from Timmil's staff, though. Seven such circles came forth, and the demon could not stop them all. One found him untouched and settled over the thing's head as a halo.
'Noooo!' Shabriri bellowed in his multitoned, disGordant voice. The radiance of the nimbus was the light of Order and Weal. It was of its very nature diametrically opposed to the demon. Its radiance burned Shabriri's eyes, its warmth blistered the creature's horn-plated hide, and the music it emitted gave such terrible pain that Shabriri could hardly think. Somehow, though, the demon managed to gather his wits and work a counter-spell against the searing force of the halo. That will cost you much when the end comes!' Shabriri hissed in a voice as loud as a dragon's roar when the force of his counter dissipated the nimbus and the pain left him.
'In all the multiverse, nothing is free, and all must bear some cost,' Timmil countered. 'Come, then; let us see who shall handle the reckoning!' So challenging, the priest loosed one of his most potent spells against the demon, as Shabriri cast forth his own power to sunder the enchantment that protected Timmil from his fangs and talons.
Allton had not fared quite so well as his comrade. Pazuzeus had leaped into the air, circled at blinding speed, and struck with a blast of air that took the archmage from the rear so unexpectedly as to knock him sprawling on his face. The potent staff Allton held was knocked from his grasp and sent rolling away in the course of the attack. The spell-worker was not so dazed, though, as to be powerless, and as the demon plummeted down for a killing attack. Allton released a barrage of energy at the winged beast. There came a half-dozen or more little bolts, shining streaks of positive energy that struck the arched chest of the demon with snapping cracks as each took its toll.
Pazuzeus swerved and faltered momentarily, giving Allton enough time to roll and scramble erect. He stood in time to face a pair of lightning bolts from the angry demon's outstretched arms.
Pazuzeus grinned evilly as the electricity shot out and took his foe just as the human's little darts of burning energy had struck him. His malign glee was quickly transferred into a hawklike shriek of pain and rage, however, as much of his own lightning arced back from the mage to play around his multiwinged body.
The mage was protected against his powers, Pazuzeus knew, but not well enough. In the blow and return, the human had suffered much, while the innate force of the elder demon had dissipated most of the harmful effects of the encounter. Pazuzeus would be more circumspect in his applications henceforth, but in a battle of attrition, the mighty netherbeing knew that he would prevail. Just as Shabriri sought to use brute force to slay his opponent, so too Pazuzeus now rushed to seize and destroy Allton.
From his distant but magically close vantage point, the demonurgist contentedly watched the initial and subsequent exchanges with relish. Gravestone was content that his demon-thralls were suffering punishment from the two humans. Let both understand just how deadly even such lesser men as those could be in mortal combat. Shabriri and Pazuzeus would both be more obedient after this.
The priest-wizard had little doubt that they would triumph. But if the unlikely happened, and the so-called heroes who had thought to confront him personally began to get the upper hand, Gravestone would intervene directly. He had a carefully stored reserve of dweomer prepared. It could be tapped instantly, and then there would be no contest at all. 'Let us see something exciting!' he shouted. That statement was simply meant as general encouragement to all concerned. Gravestone was rewarded with a ferocious melee between the many-eyed Shabriri and the staunch Timmil.
It was painful, even damaging, but Shabriri broke through the screen that hedged the high priest. As the demon sought to grab the man who stood unflinchingly before him, there was a nasty surprise, for the staff held by the cleric did more than send forth magical forces. Its metal-shod foot caught Shabriri squarely on his massive, horny knee with such force that the demon was toppled backward and sent into convulsions of writhing agony. Despite that, one of his massive hands swiped out, and as Shabriri fell, the razor-keen talons sliced crimson tracks across the face of his opponent. The demon concentrated, expending some of his power to ease the pain and repair the damage caused by the magically enhanced blow he had suffered.
