Swords & Dark Magic - By Jonathan Strahan Page 0,14

bolting with shrieks up the corridor.

Where someone else hit them.

Wither started dragging bodies off Huggs, and found her pounding on a knife she’d driven through the top of a demon’s head, but its jaws were still clamped tight around her left thigh.

“You idiot!” snapped Wither, “get your hands away so I can pry it loose. Gods below, we could have stood back and cleared the whole mess with a couple more bolts!”

Huggs spat blood. “Why should Skint get all the fun? Get this fucking thing off my leg!”

“I’m trying—sit still!”

Sergeant Flapp arrived. “Three got away!”

“There’s more,” said Skint.

“You said one!” Wither hissed, finally loosening the demon’s death-bite.

“So I was off by a few. Where’s Dullbreath? Anyone see him?”

“Not since we split,” said Flapp.

“Same here,” added Wither, and Huggs nodded as she sat up.

Skint swung her sword to shed gore and blood from the blade. “They’re on the run now. So we hunt.”

Her soldiers checked their weapons.

Flapp saw one of the arbalest bolts and kicked at it. “Nice.”

“Got a whole room of the damned things.”

“I need me a replacement.”

“We’ll take you there, Sergeant—”

“Take us all there,” said Skint. “Then we split up again. Rendezvous in the main hall up top, and don’t dally. Someone’s running this army, and I want it skewered.”

“Follow me,” said Wither.

Whimpering, the imp picked its way around yet another heap of demon corpses. Poor children! This was a slaughter, a terrible, grievous, dreadful slaughter!

And now they were hunting the survivors down—nowhere to hide!

Human stench everywhere, down every passage, every twisting, turning corridor, every cursed chamber and rank room. There was no telling where they were now, no telling what vicious ambushes they’d set up.

The imp crouched, quivering, hugging itself, and crooned its grief. Then it shook itself, drawing free its tiny sword. Enough of these evil tunnels and warrens! To the ladder! Flee this cruel place!

With renewed determination, and a healthy dose of terror, it scampered.

Breathing hard, the demon froze, nose testing the pungent, bitter air. Its eyes were wide, seeking the telltale bloom of body heat—those cursed cloaks, they’d been sopping wet, cold to the touch, blind to the demon’s eyes; and the iron chain wasn’t much better. Even so, there was no way a human could sneak up on it. No way.

It needed to find somewhere to hide. A privy hole, maybe. A crack in a wall. Anywhere.

The demon edged forward, and suddenly the human stench was overpowering. Mewling, it slowly straightened—and then turned around.

The bearded face hovering a hand’s width in front of its snout elicited a piercing scream of horror from the demon.

“Looking for me?” And then a red-stained studded fist rammed into its face. Twice, thrice, eight, nine, twelve times.

As the demon crumpled at his feet, Flapp grunted and said, “Didn’t think so.”

The two demons, boon companions for centuries, clutched each other, sharing a puddle of rank piss pooling around them, as two female humans stepped into view. Ferocious barbed bolts flung the two demons apart like rag dolls.

Wither began working the crank to reload her weapon, whilst Huggs limped forward. “You see them? Fucking pathetic.”

“You’re getting soft, Huggs.”

“Loaded?”

“Yes.”

“My turn. Keep an eye peeled, Withy.”

“Count on it.”

The imp could hear random death-cries echoing down the corridors, each one trembling through its scrawny, puny form. Reaching the iron ladder, it clambered upward as fast as its little limbs could carry it.

Not fast enough.

“Got ya.”

A mailed hand snatched the imp up, plucked it from the railing.

The imp squealed and thrashed about, but it was no use. It struggled to bring its sword to bear, but the man reached with his other hand and broke the imp’s sword arm. Snap, like a twig. Broke the other one, too, and then both legs. That really hurt!

Helpless, the imp dangled limp in the man’s grip. He stared down at it, breathing loud, mouth hanging open.

And then he bit down on the imp’s head and held it in his mouth as he climbed the ladder.

That breath! The imp cringed, even through its agony of broken bits everywhere. That breath!

As soon as they reached the top, and the man walked out of the armory, along the corridor, and out to the main chamber, the imp sent forth a frantic cry, a sorcerous plea bristling with desperate power.

Mommy! Mommy! Help me!

None left. Of course they could not be entirely certain of that, but they’d scoured every possible hiding place, rooting out the snarling oversized rats and chopping them to pieces.

Skint led them back to the arbalest armory, where they loaded