Sons of Evil: Book 1 Book of Dread (18 page)

“Impressive,” the demon said. “But
not nearly good enough.”

Ondrel pressed the attack,
showering blow after blow at Barlow, each driven by such power that Gabriel was
clearly the only thing standing between the paladin and instant death. Ondrel
could feel Barlow weakening, could feel the subtle give of each parried strike
growing as his opponent tired.

Barlow sensed the same thing. He
had no doubts about the strength of his weapon—never did—but his own strength
was suspect. If he had been thirty years younger… He shook the thought away,
knowing it wouldn’t help him, and that it might get him killed. He needed to
turn the tide, to take away the demon’s momentum, but Ondrel seemed tireless,
and it was all he could do to hang onto Gabriel and keep it between the demon’s
fiery sword and his own hide. Out of desperation he tried another kind of
attack.

“I thought you’d be stronger,”
he said.

Ondrel pulled back as if
slapped. He stared at the man before him, at his thin frame and the gray in his
hair that indicated his youth was far in the past. Ondrel’s face pinched into a
scowl. This weakling human was actually daring to taunt him. Ondrel let out a
deep scream, a primal roar, and felt the hate and rage welling up inside him. Those
emotions drove Deathbringer with even greater strength.

Barlow again had to parry one
strike after another, these more powerful but also wilder. His muscles were
being drained as he absorbed each blow, but his mind stayed sharp. He knew he
couldn’t hold out much longer, and that brought some relief. Win or lose, he
would soon know rest. If his companions could see the battle through the flames
that held them at bay, they would surely think he could not hold the demon off
much longer, but they might not perceive that despite the purely defensive
nature of Barlow’s stance, he was attacking at the same time, driving the demon
to leave just one opening, to make a fatal mistake. Even though he fought for
breath, he found his voice again, knowing he had to keep the demon off balance.

“You must not have had much
training with that weapon,” Barlow taunted, hoping Ondrel didn’t hear the gasps
for air between the words.

Ondrel roared and tried to
take Barlow’s head off with one massive swing.

Barlow ducked the sword, but
Ondrel was ready again before he could counter. Barlow spoke once more. “Not
good enough. Try again.”

Ondrel did, a low slash. Gabriel
was there, deflecting the blow.

“Too slow.”

Ondrel flew into a rage, his
swings so furious that Barlow started to think they might knock Gabriel out of
his hands. Barlow’s aching arms pleaded for rest, and Gabriel seemed to be
gaining weight. If Ondrel calmed himself and controlled his aggression, Barlow
doubted he could keep his defenses up much longer.

A three-part attack finally
edged through. A swing at the head had been ducked, a follow-up at the knees
parried, and a high, arcing chop down at Barlow’s left side was parried as
well, but not completely. This time Gabriel was a fraction of a second slow,
and rather than a clean block, the result was only a deflection, one whose
angle wasn’t quite severe enough. Deathbringer’s follow-through managed to cut
a small gash on Barlow’s upper arm.

Barlow felt the cut, but
didn’t react to it. He wasn’t sure if the source of the burning he felt was
just the normal pain of the injury, the flames from the sword, or some dark
magic or poison that might eventually bring him down, but he had no time to
worry about that now. Unless he put Ondrel down soon, it wouldn’t matter.

Despite Barlow’s façade,
Ondrel knew he had finally struck a successful blow, glancing though it was. He
paused to smile, to return the taunts that had so enraged him. It would not be
enough now to simply kill Barlow. The paladin must be made to know his death
was coming, must be made to understand that Ondrel had defeated him. Then he
would be allowed to die. “Your sword has failed you and your strength wanes. Lay
down your weapon and I will be swift and merciful.”

Barlow laughed, a scornful,
mocking noise. “You must be more afraid of me than I thought. If you really
thought you had the advantage, you would finish this, not ask me to yield.” He
met Ondrel’s eyes fully and added, “Of course, your kind has never been
anything but cowardly.” Barlow could actually see Ondrel’s jaw tighten at this
final insult. The demon sprang to the attack once more.

Ondrel hammered away, one
overhead blow after another, pouring all his strength and anger into each,
trying to smash Deathbringer straight through Gabriel and into the smug face of
the spiteful, arrogant old man.

Barlow fell to one knee, a
sign that he was faltering. Ondrel only smashed away all the harder, his attack
brutal and straightforward, a test of strength both combatants knew the demon
was bound to win. It was just what Barlow wanted. Part of him marveled at the
way the demon could swing his weapon with such tireless ease, knowing any man
would have had to stop for rest, even if just for a second, long ago. But
Ondrel’s rage and his bottomless well of strength had allowed his assault to
fall into a rhythm, one that could be used against him by a wily opponent. Ondrel
was clearly the stronger, but blinded by his own anger, he was now an inferior
swordsman. Barlow counted in his mind, one, two…as the third blow fell, he
rolled aside.

Ondrel had too much momentum
behind the sword strokes to stop one in mid-flight. Deathbringer flew past the
suddenly rolling paladin and drove into the ground. It didn’t take much effort
or time for the demon to pull the sword free, just a fraction of a second, but
it left the opening Barlow was seeking.

Barlow finished his roll and
brought Gabriel up in a quick arc. He wanted to hit the lower torso, but his
aim was off, and the sword hit the demon in the ribs, and with far less
strength than Barlow would have wanted. His tiredness was beyond anything he
had ever known. A normal sword would have made a nasty cut, perhaps lodging in
the demon’s rib bones, but Gabriel, when facing such an opponent, was no normal
sword. The white glow blazed agonizingly bright as it passed through Ondrel’s
flesh and bone, and perhaps it was this light rather than the metal of the
blade that did the work. Gabriel passed through the demon as easily as it would
have through paper, and Ondrel was cleaved in half. Barlow just saw the
surprise register on his face before he vanished, returned from whence he came.

Deathbringer fell to the
ground, its flames guttering and finally dying out. It turned to smoke and ash
as the walls of flame Ondrel had called into being winked out. Of the attacking
party only Ondrel’s horse remained, and sensing its master’s death, it reared
and gave out a shrill scream. It paused for a moment, its fiery head turned
toward Barlow, as if marking him, then it turned with another scream and raced
off into the night.

The danger past, the
adrenaline that had been propping Barlow up abandoned him. He fell on all
fours, Gabriel dropping beside him. He closed his eyes and tried to will his
heart to slow. It was racing much faster than he had thought possible, and it
felt like it wanted to leap up his throat and try to make good its escape. He
realized with grim amusement that he was more scared now than when he had
fought Ondrel. His sword would do him no good in this battle…

Silas was moving before the
flaming horse issued its first scream. He dropped to the ground beside Barlow
and put a comforting hand on his back.

“I’m okay,” Barlow said,
although the way he gasped for air made it apparent he wasn’t. He turned to
look at his old friend, his hair matted with sweat, his face pale and waxy. He
forced a smile. “Just need a few minutes to collect myself and get some air.” He
gestured with his chin toward Luke. “See to the boy.”

“I’ll do what I can, but he
may need your skills as well. That arrow was not of this world.”

Barlow nodded, thinking of his
own wound but not mentioning it. He was grateful Silas apparently hadn’t
noticed it. “Give me a moment and I’ll be over.”

Silas and Adrianna both made
their way toward Darius and his injured brother. Before Silas bent to work on
Luke, Adrianna whispered, “Is Barlow all right?”

Silas bit his lip nervously
and sighed. “I hope so.”

Adrianna seemed to want to say
more but caught herself. “Go on. See what you can do for Luke.”

One other pair of eyes had
watched the battle unfold, first with excitement and then with growing horror. When
Ondrel fell the little hunter looked around with wild-eyed dismay, as if hoping
a second attack might then commence. As it realized the group it was following
had won, its heart started to race and its throat to tighten as it considered
its master’s reaction to such news. And it was news that only it could now
deliver. Fearing pain and punishment, its brain unable to work out that it
would not be blamed for the failure of Ondrel and the other demon riders, the
hunter grasped onto the one thing that might be its salvation: the Blood Book. If
it could get the book and return it to its master…

The group’s packs were bunched
together near one of the trees, some thirty feet from where four of the five
travelers were gathered. Barlow was further away, and the hunter was closer
than any of them, and quicker. It dropped from the tree and flew at the packs,
sacrificing stealth for speed.

Adrianna spotted it as it tore
open Darius’ pack. She started toward it, yelling, “Hey!”

The hunter turned at the
shout, its eyes going wide at the sight of the sorceress running toward it, the
cleric close behind.. It went back to its work, finally managing to get the
book free. Its clawed fingers wrapped gratefully around the tome while a
contented smile creased its face. It tossed the closing enemies one last look,
then started off.

Adrianna realized a soon as
she saw the tiny demon lift the book from the pack that it would flee before
she could reach it. She stopped, gathered herself, and cast a quick spell while
extending her left arm and index finger. A bolt of purple lightning lanced out.

The hunter realized the one
mistake in its plan too late. Once it had the book, it could no longer move
with the speed and agility it was used to. The tome seemed to weigh almost as
much as the hunter, and the book was unwieldy for it to hold. On its own it
might have dodged the purple bolt that was tossed its way, but with the book in
its clutches it had no chance. Once struck, it felt an odd ecstasy of pain,
fell with the book beneath it, and then was no more.

Adrianna let out a relieved
sigh and retrieved the book, a shiver going through her as if the book were
alive with dark energy. As she lifted it, something rolled off and fell to the
ground. She bent over and found it was a small stone, one with a golden band
running through it. Thinking it odd but not sure why, she pocketed the rock and
returned to her companions.

“Same thing we dealt with
before,” she reported. She waved the book and added, “We’ve got to keep an eye
on this at all times, apparently.”

“We should have been doing
that already,” Silas said. “It’s easy to be lulled into thinking our enemies
will line up their attacks one at a time.”

“Any more happy news,” Luke
asked, trying to be glib, but jostling his shoulder as he spoke. He winced
against the pain.

“Good to see that arrow didn’t
steal your spirit.” Silas said, resuming his ministrations, “but how about you
keep still until we can look after this wound.”

Luke, abashed, nodded his
obedience.

Barlow managed to find his
feet and make his way over to the others while they were working up a makeshift
sling for Luke’s arm. “Everything looks as good as can be hoped for,” Silas
announced when he saw Barlow had joined them. “The wound’s clean. The fire saw
to that. Some blistering of the skin, but that’ll heal up okay. Mostly just
need to keep from straining the shoulder until it has a chance to heal.

“How long will that be?”
Adrianna asked.

Silas shrugged. “Who can tell?
Depends how careful the patient is.”

Luke waved his free hand. “I’ll
be good.”

Adrianna turned to Barlow. “Are
you okay to travel?”

He nodded. “Although I’d like
Silas to take a look at this little cut Ondrel’s sword gave me. Just to be
safe.” As Silas did so, Barlow said to Adrianna, “I assume that was one of your
spells that knocked me off my feet, and Gabriel out of my hands.”

Adrianna scowled. “The demons
were—”

Barlow stopped her with an
open hand and a tired smile. “All around me, I know. Wish you could have just
taken them out, but I suppose you didn’t have a lot of time to aim. I’m just
trying to say thanks. You saved my life. Nearly killed me doing it, but it
worked out for the best.”

Adrianna was so stunned she
couldn’t find her voice to respond. Luckily Barlow seemed to enjoy her
bewildered expression almost as much as a compliment in kind.

Silas
declared Barlow’s wound to be minor and patched it with bands of cloth and
words of prayer. “All-in-all we were very lucky,” he said, “but we’ll need to
keep an eye on how the healing process goes, in case those foul weapons have
some long-term impact that only time will reveal.”