Peter Brett - Brayan's Gold

A moment later he laughed out loud and looked up, expecting to see half the demon’s head blown off, but One Arm stood there unharmed.

“No!” Arlen screamed, as the demon roared and resumed its charge. “No! No! No!”

He took up one of his spears, drawing back and throwing hard. The missile struck the demon full in the chest, splintering on impact and doing no harm.

“What does it take to kill you?” Arlen cried, but the demon took no heed. Knowing the fight was lost, he cursed and dropped his shield to the ground, standing at the center of its small circle of protection.

But the ground shook from the demon’s charge, a sound like constant thunder in the air, and Arlen’s knees buckled. He stumbled from his perch atop the convex shield, and knew he could not trust its protection through the night.

Quickly, he picked his shield back up, taking a spear in his other hand. His armor might protect him long enough to retreat back to Dawn Runner’s circle, but it was a long way to run through the snow at night, especially with seventy pounds of steel on his back. The roaring filled his ears, and it seemed the whole mountain shook.

One Arm reached the outcropping, leaping up to catch its lip. The great talons of its good arm dug into the stone as it pulled itself up. Arlen stabbed at the hand uselessly as the roaring sound grew deafening, and suddenly he realized it wasn’t One Arm causing it. He looked up and saw nothing but whiteness, rushing at him like water.

Barely thinking, Arlen leapt from the far side of the escarpment, half-sliding and half-tumbling down to the trail. Ignoring the sharp spikes of pain from the fall, he immediately fetched up against the mountainside and raised his shield.

Shaken loose by the thundersticks, the avalanche struck One Arm full on, knocking the giant demon over the cliff in much the same manner as Arlen had its smaller cousin. He saw the demon fall an instant before being buried himself.

There was surprising weight to the snow, and Arlen’s arm threatened to buckle, but he succeeded in creating a pocket of shelter, and when the rumbling ceased, he was able to quickly dig himself out as the majority of the snow continued on down the mountainside.

He went over to the edge of the cliff, but there was no sign of One Arm in the darkness, nor sound of its cries. Arlen laughed again and pumped a fist into the air. Perhaps he had not been able to kill the demon, but he had faced it again and lived to tell the tale, and it might be days before One Arm found his trail again.

A low growl sounded off to the side, and the grin died on Arlen’s face. The avalanche must have brought a demon down from higher up the mountain. His hand tightened on his spear, and he turned slowly, shield up.

The moon and stars were bright and reflected off the snow, casting a gray gloom through the darkness. At first he didn’t see it, but as the coreling drew closer, the wards on his armor and shield began to draw upon its magic, glowing softly. There was movement in the wardlight, and finally Arlen caught sight of it, a demon with pure white scales that glittered like snowflakes. It looked much like a flame demon, no bigger than a mid-sized dog and crouched on all fours, with a long snout and horns that ran back flat over pointed ears and a long, corded neck.

On impulse, Arlen spat upon the demon, and was amazed to find the rumor was true. As his spittle struck the pure white scales, it froze and burst with a crack.

The snow demon’s eyes narrowed, and its snout split wide in what might have been a smile. It made a horrid sound in its throat, and spat back at him.

Arlen managed to get his shield up in time, catching the spray. The surface turned white with rime, and his shield arm grew numb from the cold.

The demon leapt at him then, and his shield, made brittle by the coreling’s coldspit, shattered on impact. Arlen was knocked onto his back in the snow, but managed to get a leg between the demon and himself, kicking it away. The snow demon was knocked to the cliff’s edge, but dug in its front claws and held fast, back talons scrabbling for purchase. In a moment it would be back at him.

Arlen shook off the remains of his shield and charged the demon, spear leading. He meant to send it tumbling down to wherever One Arm had landed, but the coreling recovered faster than he anticipated. It tamped down and sprang to meet his charge.

Arlen spun his spear into a horizontal defense, but the coreling caught the shaft in its teeth and bit through the thick wood like it was a celery stalk. Arlen took the two halves and swung them like clubs to box the demon’s ears, knocking it aside.

Before the demon could recover, he turned and ran. It was one thing to press an advantage when a demon was hanging by its claws, but another to fight one head on. There were no snow wards on his armor, and he had no defense against its coldspit.

The wards on his armor continued to glow softly, helping light his way, but also serving as a beacon to the snow demon and any other corelings that might be in the area. He stumbled through the snow, using the downward slope to add reckless speed to his flight.

But in the end, it was not enough. His legs sank into the loose snow, but the snow demon ran across its surface like a bug skating on water. He felt it hit his back, knocking the wind from him and bearing him to the ground.

Arlen rolled with the impact, shaking the demon off before it could find a seam in his armor, but he had barely rolled onto his back before it was upon him again. He put up his armored forearm to hold it back, and the demon caught the thick steel plate in its teeth and began to squeeze.

Metal squealed and bent, and though his arm was still numbed by the coldspit, Arlen howled in agony. The demon’s talons raked at him, tearing easily through the steel mesh at his joints, and piercing the larger plates like blacksmith shears.

Arlen felt the cold claws pierce his flesh, like being stabbed with icicles, and screamed into the night. The demon thrashed its head from side to side, teeth still clamped, threatening to tear his arm clear out of the socket. Blood spattered his face from the injured limb.

But in that instant, sure of his own death, Arlen caught sight of the demon’s bare belly, smooth like new snow, and saw a chance. With the fingers of his free hand he caught a swab of his own blood and reached out, drawing a crude heat ward on the snow demon’s stomach.

Immediately, the ward flared, brighter and more powerful than any he had seen at the station. Those wards were powered by feedback alone, but this ward drew on the coreling’s dark magic directly. Arlen felt his face burn from its power.

The demon shrieked and let go its grip, and Arlen shoved it away. It landed on its back, and Arlen saw his blood ward blacken the white scales, then burst into a flame that consumed the demon like sunlight. He was left panting in the snow, bloodied and torn, but very much alive as he watched the thrashing snow demon immolated in fire.

He stumbled quickly back to the campsite, breathing a great sigh of relief when he was once again within the safety of his circles. He needed a prybar to get some of the pieces of his armor off, but there was no choice, as the twisted metal cut off his blood flow in more than one place, and cut into his skin in others. He lit the fire he had wisely laid in advance, and spent the rest of the night huddled by it, trying to restore feeling to his arm as he stitched his flesh.