Darren Shan: Lord Loss

Studying the demons with terror. So many details I’d forgotten. The tiny mouths in Artery’s palms, the fact that he doesn’t have a tongue in any mouth, the writhing cockroaches on his head, the fierceness of the flames burning in his empty eye sockets. Vein’s tiny cruel eyes, her long leathery snout, bits of flesh caught between her teeth, the sleekness of her canine coat, female hands instead of paws. And Lord Loss—red skin stained with blood which oozes from hundreds and thousands of ragged cracks, his strange dark red eyes, and the hole where his heart should be, filled with writhing, hissing snakes.

The demons come to the end of the web and hesitate, swaying on a thin strand like evil vultures on a vine. Dervish stands beneath them, cool as a chunk of ice, hands pressed together.

“Hello, Dervish,” Lord Loss says, his voice even sadder than I remembered. “It is good to see you again, my doomed friend.”

“Good to see you also,” Dervish replies tightly. Vein snaps at him, trying to frighten him, but Dervish only sniffs with disinterest.

“And my younger friend, poor Grubitsch Grady.” Lord Loss sighs, subjecting me to his eerie red gaze. “Your sorrow is still strong. So sweet.” His face wrinkles and blood seeps from cracks on both cheeks. He licks the blood from his flesh with an inhumanly long tongue, then extends a hand. “Come to me, Grubitsch. Let me feed on your pain. Misery should be celebrated, not endured. In my world you will be an emperor of suffering. Be mine, Grubitsch. Turn your back on this insane challenge and accept your true destiny.”

I find myself sneering, and without meaning to, I draw myself up straight, glare openly at the demon lord, and snap, “Stick it up your crack, you warped son of a mutant bitch!”

Lord Loss’s face drops. Vein and Artery gibber furiously. Dervish laughs.

“You will pay for that insult,” Lord Loss snarls, eyes glowing, blood flowing.

“Only if we lose,” Dervish chuckles. “You can’t touch him if we win.”

“Oh, but Dervish, you won’t win,” Lord Loss says, his voice reverberating with gloominess. “I wish there was hope—you remind me of Bartholomew Garadex, a most rare human. But you must face facts—this night you die. The boy is weak, unfit for such a challenge.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Dervish warns me. “He’s trying to make you think you’re lost before you start.”

“I know what he’s up to—it won’t work,” I grunt. But inside I’m not so cocky. There’s such sadness in the demon’s voice and eyes. Is it true? Are we destined to lose?

“One final chance, Grubitsch,” Lord Loss whispers. “Give yourself to me now and you can avoid the terror and agony. Your death will not be quick, but it will be pleasurable. Your mother, at the end, wished she had accepted my offer. She begged to serve me, but it was too late.”

“I don’t believe you,” I say evenly. “Mum would never have begged a piece of scum like you for anything—even her life!”

Lord Loss’s eyes narrow. “A second insult,” he murmurs. “You shall not make a third.” He faces Dervish. “I tire of these vain human posterings. I came to play chess. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Who will take to the boards with me?”

“I will.”

Lord Loss lays a hand over his mouth to cover a small smile. “The boy is to fight Vein and Artery? I am astonished. I assumed Grubitsch was a chess maverick who would pit his wits against mine. But to throw him into combat with my savage familiars…”

“Grubbs will be fine,” Dervish says, but his voice doesn’t ring with confidence.

“So be it,” Lord Loss sighs. “I would have rather fought a noble contest, but if you are to play into our hands, there is nothing for it but to sweep to a swift victory and make a quick end of you.”

Lord Loss lowers himself off of the web and hovers just in front of Dervish, the jagged strips of flesh at the ends of his legs never touching the ground. Six of his arms fold around his ribs, leaving the upper pair free. Blood drips from his body and sizzles when it hits the stones of the floor.

Dervish steps aside and points to the chess boards. Lord Loss drifts towards them, lips splitting into the closest he can get to a genuinely warm smile. He circles the tables, running his fingers over some of the chess pieces. On the web, Vein and Artery snap and spit, scratching impatiently at the silky strands, hungry for battle and blood.

“I hope you prove more worthy an opponent than your brother, Dervish,” Lord Loss says spitefully. “He was on the back foot from the fourth move. It was quite embarrassing, the ease with which he succumbed. I think, deep down, he secretly wished to lose—just as Grubitsch does.”

“Shut up!” I yell, taking an angry step towards him, hands clenched into fists.

“Easy, Grubbs,” Dervish mutters. “He’s trying to goad you. Ignore his rubbish. Clear your mind. Focus on the fight.”

“Wise advice,” Lord Loss nods. “But Grubitsch is unable to heed it. He is full of fire and fury—like his mother. Her failures proved to be your father’s downfall. He might have fared better had he not been so worried about her, just as Dervish is worried about you. What will you say to your uncle when you fail him, Grubitsch? How will you apologise for—”

“If this continues,” Dervish interrupts softly, “the game’s off.” Lord Loss stares at him archly. “I’m not bluffing. Let it be a fair contest, me against you, Grubbs against your slaves, or there’ll be no contest at all.”

“You would sacrifice the wretched Billy Spleen so cheaply?” Lord Loss smirks.

“If I have to,” Dervish says, and his face is stone.

Lord Loss studies my uncle in troubled silence, then shrugs and sits on the side of the chess boards behind the black pieces. “Very well. We shall dispense with the pleasantries. Take your place, Dervish Grady, and face your finish.”

Dervish walks across to me. Grips my shoulders. Stares hard into my eyes. “You know what you have to do,” he says. “Fight hard and dirty—to the death.”

“Piece of cake,” I grin weakly. “Good luck.”

“We make our own luck tonight,” he says in reply. He releases me and marches to the chess boards. Sits, takes a breath, then without any formalities reaches forward, grips a pawn on the middle board and moves it forward.

Immediately, Vein and Artery leap from the web and zone in on me, screeching, snarling, the stench of death thick in the air about them.

No time to check Lord Loss’s response to Dervish’s opening move. I toss myself wildly to the left. Vein shoots overhead, crocodile jaws snapping together on thin air, human fingers wriggling.

Artery lands on my back. His left hand grabs my neck. Teeth bite into my flesh. I howl and roll over, seeking to squash the hell-child. He leaps free before I complete the move, chuckling darkly.

In the cage, Bill-E roars and shakes the bars, sensing the threat of the demons even in his beastlike form.

Vein attacks again, bounding across the floor. My right hand snakes out. Fingers open. An axe jumps into my palm from the pile of weapons several metres away. I sit up and throw. It arcs towards Vein. Bounces hard off her snout. Only a scratch, but the wound makes her pause.

I rise without using the muscles in my legs. Look down—I’m hovering in the air! Close my mind to the impossibility of the situation. Extend both hands. An axe flies into my left, a short sword into my right. I look for the demons. They’re huddled side by side, glaring at me.

“Come and get it, creeps!” I grunt, twirling the axe like a baton.

“A clever manoeuvre,” Lord Loss notes, clapping drily. “Did you teach him that one, Dervish?”