Clayton Emery - Sword Play

The awful gaze of black eyes, like pits themselves, turned on Sunbright. His soul felt seared by the gaze, even as his skin had been seared red by the blue-white star. The snake-bonds trapping him suddenly hissed anew, heads twitching and tongues flicking. Then the snakes dropped away, coiled a few times, and returned to the mist from whence they'd come. Released from their clutches unexpectedly, the barbarian dropped three feet to crash painfully on his knees. He was raw and chapped and slashed and burned from head to toe, and this callous dumping made his temper flare. But there was little-nothing-he could do to the pit fiend or whatever this monster was.

"On your feet!" boomed the great voice. Aching, Sunbright stood. Not back against the stone wall, as did Candlemas and Greenwillow, the sensible ones, but at the very edge of the promontory, before the gaze of the fiend and its fellows. Let them see how a brave man dies, Sunbright thought. At least he could die well.

Movement caught his eye. From the ashes, his great sword Harvester levitated, spun, and came toward his hand. He almost hesitated to catch it for fear of bewitchment and contamination, but when the sweat-stained leather fit his palm, he knew the sword was all right. His father had borne it into battle, and now his son carried it, and would triumph. Or go down fighting.

The pit fiend curled its lips around its tusks and seemed to ruminate like a cow. Then it pronounced, "You, manling, have this ludicrous creature to thank for your current predicament and that of your friends. I grant you a chance to take back a bit of your own. Strike off her head, so it might get an early start at eternal torment. Schemers fear separating mind and body above all. So strike hard and true. Show us the might of a barbarian's arm."

As Sunbright weighed his great sword, Sysquemalyn was magically turned sideways in midair as if by invisible hands, until her head floated above an imaginary block, arms pinned at her sides. Her glorious red hair hung so long it brushed the ashes of the promontory.

Sunbright stood unmoving, pondering. His thoughts were overwhelmed by the depth of Sysquemalyn's treachery. To kill her a hundred times would barely sate his barbarian thirst for revenge. Now, through vanity and foolishness, she'd endangered the whole world, all Sunbright had ever known and a thousand times that. Perhaps her death would alleviate some of the suffering, both past and future.

Unconsciously, he found himself raising his sword and taking aim.

"Don't hesitate, mud man." Exhausted and discouraged, Sysquemalyn hung, unresisting. "Strike, and get it over with."

The great sword bobbed in the air as if it were alive and thirsty. Harvester of Blood was its name, but Sunbright hadn't named it. Vaguely he wondered what he would have named the blade, given the chance. But that was a thought for another time.

The barbarian backed away from the shivering mage, dropping the curved sword tip to touch stone.

"No."

"What?"

The pit fiend was not used to being disobeyed. Its tusked mouth fell open like a cavern, and fire and smoke gushed on its breath. The lesser fiends ducked their heads. A pair of erinyes perched on an outcrop were blasted from the wall, feathered wings afire, to spiral and plunge into the roiling lava below.

Standing foremost on the promontory, Sunbright felt the heat of the pit fiend's fury, felt his skin and eyeballs dry, his hair tingle as if about to ignite. Too, the roiling, sulfurous smoke sickened him, made his stomach churn, until he'd have given a year of his life for one breath of pure tundra air. The barbarian fought to keep his knees from shaking. To fight berserk in battle was one thing, for a man was busy then. But to stand up to a fiend and pretend calm was quite another. It gave a body too much time to think of the awful consequences. Still, a warrior's wit must be a weapon too, as his people said.

So he hollered down, "I mean, no, not without some other reward!"

This gave the pit fiend pause. The idea of bargaining-especially when it could easily renege-was familiar and diverting. Scratching its lower lip with a claw like a slate shingle, it rumbled, "Other reward? You dicker from a precarious perch, manling. Here in my high hall I hold the whip. I offer you revenge, and you demand else. What would you offer in return?"

"If I do this thing-behead Ruellana, or Sysquemalyn, as she's called-will you let me and my friends go?"

The pit fiend frowned as it pretended to ponder, then grinned tuskily. "To turn a human phrase, hell, no!" It gobbled at its own wit, and the ranks of underlings below its feet hooted and chortled and applauded.

Sunbright waited, impassive, and let them laugh. He wasn't sure what he bargained for except time. Perhaps the two mages behind him would wave their wands and pull a rabbit from a hat like some medicine-show mime in the marketplace. Perhaps they could rip open a portal for escape. Perhaps Greenwillow would spot a bolt hole and get away. Any delay could be valuable.

Still chuckling, the pit fiend asked, "What else, mortal?"

"Consider this," offered Sunbright. "I'll execute this mage and stay on as your headsman for one year if you release my friends."

He nodded over his shoulder, risking a glance at the others. Through yellow-gray smoke he saw Greenwillow standing against the back wall, off to one side where she could watch the pit fiend. Her hands were empty, but her thumbs rested on her hips, ready to draw steel in a second. Candlemas- whom Sunbright still thought of as Chandler, and not exactly a friend- stood upright, podgy and bald and bearded but solid-looking. His arms crossed his chest, and for a second Sunbright was irritated at the man's feigned casualness. Then he realized the mage could demonstrate non-aggression only by folding his arms: free hands in any position might be generating a spell. The raven pecked at rock, either oblivious or stupid or posing.

The pit fiend wobbled its great horned head and flapped its leather wings erratically, like a sea gull battered by storm winds. It addressed not just Sunbright, but also all its followers as it bellowed, "You misunderstand, insect! Here, I reign supreme! There are no quibbles, no bargains, no repeals. You bargain whether to sever this upstart's head or not, but I say you'll do as ordered. Whether you become a headsman or lemure or black pudding or shoe leather is up to me and me alone. And so, I command you, strike off her head and kick it down here!"

Well, it was worth a shot, Sunbright thought philosophically. He hadn't really expected compassion or honor from a fiend any more than he would from a tax collector. And he could think of nothing else to do to stall for time.

So he spit over the promontory into the lake of lava and took a fresh grip on Harvester. He shouted loudly enough for all to hear, "No, I won't do it! Whatever this creature-be she Ruellana or Sysquemalyn or some other-has done to me, she is still closer to me than you and yours! I will not harm one of us for the amusement of such as you."

So saying, the barbarian stepped back a pace to raise Harvester high behind his shoulder, as if he'd lop off the head of the pit fiend itself. Then he bobbed his chin. "Bring on the fiends of the Nine Hells! Sunbright Steelshanks, son of Sevenhaunt and Monkberry, child of the Raven Clan of the Rengarth tribe, bids you battle the Harvester of Blood!"

Enraged at the human's presumption, the pit fiend raised long arms, howled some ancient oath, and pointed broken claws at the single man on the high ledge. "Attack!"

In a flash, Greenwillow was at Sunbright's side, calling, "Swing hard but spare me!" She added a bright, star-eyed smile, then turned to the grim work to come-their last battle, they both knew.