What Gravestone saw inside there made him stand upright with a snarl. In a flash, he had seen everything that the wizard had perceived in his brief exposure to the six combatants. Gravestone could interpret the information only slightly better than his lackey, but that was more than enough to send surges of burning rage and chilly fear through his tall body. Here indeed were foes of unguessable strength. No true auras could be read, but the glow of energy, the traceries of purpose that were evident, told more than enough.
"What... ? Who are—"
"Go below instantly," Gravestone commanded, cutting the query off without response. "Immediately, or else I will blast you where you stand!"
That was sufficient to send Sigildark scurrying toward the nearest edge of the suspended space he was upon. Being a dweomercraefter, he had no need of stairs, of course. A leap, a fall that would gradually slow to a gentle float downward, and he would be one hundred feet below on the floor in no time. As he was about to clamber over the low parapet that circumscribed the floating island of stonelike matter. Gravestone's voice hissed in his ear. "Summon Krung. Have him by your side when you confront those who will dare intrude."
The wizard gritted his teeth and stepped into space. He had no qualm about the distance to the hard floor below. It was Gravestone's words that made him fearful. The priest-mage had just told him he must face the enemies he had fled. Somehow, Sigildark knew that they were a test that he could not endure, and the thought of having the netherfiend. Krung, to help fight them was scant encouragement.
"Why not some greater one?" Sigildark thought, hoping that his master would discern the thought and respond. The black mage knew better than to form the names Pazuzeus and Shabriri in his mind, but he did allow the names of several of the more powerful daemons he had met in this place to float near the surface of his brain. There was no reply, though, and his feet touched the blackish purple of the floor before he could bring up more mental suggestions to send to Gravestone. Thinking better of it anyway. Sigildark used his feet to carry him at a near trot toward the summoning place, a tiered pit beneath the center of the platform above.
His hands trembled as he made the preparations and began the passes that would bring Krung from his own disgusting place to this non-plane that was Gravestone's little domain. He drew a deep breath and calmed himself. After all, the netherfiend was a very puissant being; besides, the priest-wizard might be mistaken. Even the most potent of foes would have a difficult time finding this place. Setting even those thoughts aside. Sigildark began his summoning.
High above. Gravestone stopped scanning the man's mind, sneering. The fool didn't even realize that he had laid down a track for the enemy to follow. All the better. It would take some time to bring Pazuzeus and Shabriri, and in the meantime Sigildark and Krung would "entertain" the unwanted visitors. Perhaps the work thereafter would be minimal... possible, but doubtful!
Gravestone used a rodlike wand to scribe a glowing form, a thing of impossible lines and curves, chanting equally impossible words as he worked.
As the burning shapes grew and the stream of sound became a nonstop rush of arcane syllables. Gravestone allowed one corner of his evil brain to ponder events. He felt deep, malign satisfaction as he worked, for the priest-wizard understood that he had been presented with the greatest opportunity ever, something he had not dared to hope would occur again. Into his hands was coming the one who could only be the champion that stood between the coming of Tharizdun and the multiverse. The demons he was bringing would be for those who accompanied the one. He, Gravestone, would personally account for the would-be champion. Who then could deny him his rightful place as Tharizdun's viceroy and chief agent when the Greatest of EMI arrived in his dark and malign majesty? None was the answer — not even Tharizdun himself!
* * *
The dark violet spot grew as large as a postern gate, and with a final surge Gord pushed through it. He was suddenly engulfed in darkness, but in a second he began to perceive the weird "light" of visual sense operating in the spectrum above violet and at the same time below red. This special sight had been initially granted to the young adventurer by the strange powers of the green, cat's-eye ring he wore. Now, however, he knew that his own nerves picked up the emanations of infrared and ultraviolet radiation without reliance on the ring's dweomer.
In front of him, revealed starkly in the weird combination of light waves Gord perceived, was the spellbinder who had cried the warning and fled. The fellow's face was a mask of shock and fear at Gord's sudden appearance. That was understandable, for the young champion had his black longsword in hand and death in his eyes as he forced his way free of the interplanar portal.
"Geeyah!" Sigildark voiced the sound involuntarily as his startled nervous system took over. At the same instant he literally jumped backward, thus avoiding the long thrust that the suddenly appearing enemy attempted.
"No use, you fu—" Gord shouted as he sprang to the attack.
"Hee, hee, heeee!" piped the terrible soprano voice of the netherfiend Krung as the creature struck Gord from behind with a ham-sized, horny fist with enough power behind it to fell a bull.
It was the launching of his attack that saved Gord from having his skull caved in or neck broken. The netherfiend's blow caught him as he was moving away from it. Thus, the force of the terrible fist spent much of its power in driving the young thief ahead. He fell sprawling, face abraded by the rough material that floored the place, stunned and unmoving.
"Tunun," Krung said as it saw the smear of blood on the floor. The misshapen form bent, its neck extending obscenely, tongue rasping over the lithic slabs as the thing bent to lap the blood and then devour the still, human body. The tableau was sufficiently amusing to cause Sigildark to devote his attention to it, for the evil mage had an insatiable desire to see just how the netherfiend would consume the fallen man.
"Sluuslupp," went Krung's foot-long tongue as it writhed out and back. It was just being extruded again when the creature jerked back, head withdrawing, mouth agape, muscles bunching. "Eee... yeiii!" The high-pitched scream nearly deafened Sigildark.
"I thought that might attract your attention," Gellor said with steely satisfaction as he withdrew his sword from the fiend's backside. Krung was spinning, giving voice to a whining snarl, talons flashing, fangs bared. The bard moved counter to the spin, while Curley Greenleaf, just behind him, brought his magical spear into play. Behind them. Chert had just emerged from the gateway, and Timmil's head was seemingly floating disembodied in the air as he started to come through. Allton was but seconds from also arriving. "Now. Curley!" Gellor shouted as he struck at a flailing arm from his crouch.
The druid uttered the magical word that brought forth the slender spearhead from his staff as he drove the thick pole toward the netherftend's head. Green-leaf was aiming for the red-rimmed, pain-and-rage-filled eyes of the monster. One of its clawed hands, a member as broad as a plank and tipped with iron-hard talons inches long, interposed. Krung saw the staff-butt and thought to snap it like a twig. Instead, the enchanted steel that shot from it pierced the monster's flesh as if it was leather under a cobbler's knife.
"Yaahg!" This time the netherfiend's cry was softer, for Its brain was overloaded with pain. Gellor's sword had sliced deep, hacking its other arm so that it was open to the bone. The fiend was wounded terribly. Both arms and its intestines were injured. These humans were not the soft and easy prey Krung was accustomed to. There was but one answer: flee! In a short time, natural processes would begin to heal his hurts, the awful pains would recede, and then Krung would return, but with certain things of power... and with help of other sort as well.