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He landed on his knees, directly in front of it once more, and he heard Brandark and Hurthang and Gharnal shouting his name in horror as the demon heaved up before him yet again. He was weaponless, but he didn't even reach for the dagger at his belt. It would have been useless against such a foe, but that wasn't why he left it alone.
"The belly, is it?" he bellowed up at the demon, and his lips drew back to bare his teeth in a snarl. "Come on, then, you bastard! Let's be having you!"
He remained on his knees, but he pounded his breastplate with his fists, mocking the creature, daring it to attack him.
"Come on! " he screamed again... and it did.
The head struck, mandibles gaping wide, and this time Bahzell didn't try to dodge. He reached out instead, his hands striking with the speed and power and deadly precision of the Rage. They closed on the saw-toothed mandibles like steel clamps, one on each side, and Bahzell threw all four hundred-odd pounds of his brawny, heavy-boned body to his right. His left leg straightened, thrusting at the floor while he pivoted on his right knee, giving still more power to his desperate heave, and the demon squealed in shock as he literally twisted the front of its huge body to one side.
"Now, Vaijon!" he bellowed, every muscle locked as he held it there.
It was impossible. No one could possibly have pi
Bahzell and Vaijon flew away like discarded toys, bouncing in opposite directions, and the howling fury of the demon's agony hammered a dozen more warriors to their knees. It screamed again and again, battering its head back and forth, shattering the stone of the passage's walls and roof even as it splintered its own armor against them. Ichor splashed and steamed, and Bahzell shook his head groggily and heaved himself back to his knees as the monster's own death struggle completed what Vaijon had begun.
It took over five minutes for the thing to die, and Bahzell left it to it and crawled over to Vaijon. The young knight lay unconscious, and unless Bahzell was badly mistaken, his right arm was broken again—this time in at least three places. But he was alive, and Bahzell gathered his head into his lap and leaned back against the tu
By the time it stopped thrashing madly, the last of Sharnā's guardsmen had been killed or battered into surrender. Gharnal's bloody left arm hung limp at his side, and Hurthang had lost the little finger off his right hand, but the two of them were still going concerns, and, together with Brandark, they saw to it that none of Sharnā's worshipers who were still breathing got their throats cut. Not because any of them had given oath to Tomanāk , but because live witnesses would be far more useful than a few more lopped-off heads which couldn't confirm what had happened here.
At least eight Horse Stealers lay scattered among the dead. Others were wounded, and Bahzell knew there must be still more of them—dead and wounded alike—strewn along the tu
"I was thinking as how you might be wanting this one alive," he grunted, and dumped his burden at Bahzell's feet.
Bahzell stretched out his right leg without rising or disturbing Vaijon's head in his lap, and dug a toe under the body's shoulder. He jerked his foot up, flipping it over onto its back, and a cold, hungry light flickered in his eyes as he recognized the amulet of a high priest of Sharnā on the chain about its neck.
"Aye," he said softly, one hand resting on Vaijon's forehead, and looked up at his young kinsman. "Oh, aye, Chavâk, I do that."