“What are you two doing?” Elyssandra cried.
“It’s forcing us down the passage,” Braiden said, fingers crooking as he prepared a spell.
“It must be herding us toward the demon,” Augustin said, his hands and wrists moving in practiced motions even as he spoke. “Then we’ll be sandwiched between them, helpless.”
Warren stopped, too, twirling his quarterstaff anew. “I like sandwiches, but this is indeed too fishy for my taste.”
Elyssandra skidded to a stop, twisting at the hip as she brandished her golden dagger. With a flick of her wrist, it extended into a golden spear.
“Fine. I batted this thing clear across Beadle’s Needles the first time. I can just as easily do it again.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. Stupid humans. Stupid elf. And stupid — well, whatever you are.”
Warren bared his teeth and thumped the ground with one angry foot, his ears standing at attention. The brass cube’s flat and distressingly ominous laugh set Braiden’s hackles rising.
“I am indeed the messenger that visited your pitiful excuse for a shop. But I am only one among a vast quantity. Know that the denizens of the many hells are innumerable, the deepest fires of our furnaces immeasurable in their intensity.”
Innumerable? A strange thing to brag about, since most of Aidun was already so familiar with the legends about demons.Parents certainly liked to use the old stories to frighten disobedient children. The only thing more frightening than their devilry, or so the stories went, was their sheer number. The expression was “several hells” for a reason.
Still, sweat dripped down Braiden’s nape, trickling into the dip between his shoulders, sending an odd, wet shiver down his spine. This sounded too much like a villainous monologue. Why was the messenger monologuing?
It hovered closer, still spinning, bright amber glyphs blazing on each of its gleaming faces.
“I am legion,” the cube intoned. “For we are many.”
Out from the darkness of the distant passages came yet more orange glows. Half a dozen of them, floating and burning as lovely as lanterns, reminding Braiden of the strings of lights hanging over the night market.
If only these fires were as benevolent. Six copies of the brass messenger approached the first, flanking the original to form a line of spinning, glowing boxes. Their glyphs burned brighter and brighter.
“Run,” Augustin whispered. “As hard and as fast as you can.”
Chapter
Twenty-One
The burningin Braiden’s lungs made a fine and torturous match for the burning in his legs.
And the burning at his back, too, the combined flames of so many infernal messengers singeing and licking at the air. Stopping now meant being roasted alive. Tripping over a stone would mean certain death by incineration.
The seven messengers were in hot pursuit now, making no effort to slow down and cutting off all possibility of retreat, not that the party could have done much to save themselves in the other direction.
This had been the plan all along. The cubes blocked the way back to the surface not only with their oppressive fire, but with the wickedly sharp edges of their corners, as deadly as spinning blades.
Braiden knew they were being herded in a very specific direction. He hated knowing that this was the demon Valefour’s trap. But what choice did they have? What could his little party do to combat the fire of so many simultaneous messengers?
And even without the risk of injuring Augustin, should he cast his fleetfoot spell, how would he even aim it at their feet? They were moving too quickly, scattering all about the tunnel.
It was the wrong time, the wrong place. Tight quarters left them all at a grave disadvantage. Just how were experienced adventurers, never mind an unseasoned shopkeeper, supposed to know how to deal with flying boxes of fiery death?
If only they could make it into a wider space, a clearing of some sort. Wasn’t that the pattern they’d observed in the dungeon all along? Tight passages always opening into bigger caves and natural caverns.
They would be demolished by the messengers if they met them head-on, but with space to maneuver, perhaps their party stood a fighting chance. Elyssandra and Warren could fend off the cubes up front while Augustin and Braiden engaged them with magic.
And as for Elder Bahul? All the while, as they ran helter-skelter down and into the heart of danger, Braiden still couldn’t get over how nimbly the senior citizen former smuggler could run. Gods only knew how much weight in merchandise he was carrying on his back.
But Braiden couldn’t blame Warren for quite literally leaping ahead of the pack. He had to assume that the burrowfolk would be far more susceptible to injury by fire for his fur alone.
He wanted to shout for him to bound even farther, to not worry about leaving the party behind. Braiden sucked in all the breath his aching lungs could muster, but Warren’s head whipped around, shouting as he pointed ahead.
