shook his head and was surprised how easy it was to throw off the spell that had even the steel-willed Phoenix Guard standing quietly before the monster like rabbits before a serpent.
For a moment that seemed as long as eternity, the spell held, and all stood, seemingly frozen. Then the first of the Phoenix Guard sprang forward to strike at the monster. N’Kari parried and cut the elf in two with his return stroke. Silent as stalking cats, the remaining elf warriors threw themselves into the fray.
CHAPTER TWENTY-nine
I am going to die.
The knowledge beat against Tyrion’s brain with utter certainty as he watched N’Kari rip one of the Phoenix Guard asunder with his great claw. There was no way he was going to survive this. He simply was not a match for the daemon, even weakened as it was by the magical radiance of Asuryan’s flame.
I am going to die.
N’Kari beckoned with his hand and some of the wounded soldiers abased themselves before him. N’Kari sprang forward walking on the backs of his newfound worshippers, the great claws on his feet tearing flesh and shattering bone with every stride.
Tyrion was not afraid. He was not angry. He was simply struck by the futility of any action he might perform. He knew in part this was a reaction to the languid vapours the daemon emitted and in part it was his own mind responding to the hopelessness of the situation.
I am going to die.
The remaining Phoenix Guard threw themselves forward to meet the daemon. Its blade reaped their lives like wheat. It laughed with soul-flaying mockery. Blood and brains splattered everywhere, hitting Tyrion on the face. Calmly he wiped them away to clear his sight.
It was all just information. His death was one of the rules of this game. Accepting the truth of it, he could still win. The goal was to distract the daemon until Teclis cast his spell. It was now simply a problem of tactics.
I am going to die.
The daemon gestured again. Polychromatic lightning surged from its extended claw. It hit one of the defenders and consumed his flesh even as he groaned in what might have been agony or ecstasy. The flare of the bolt cast the huge statues of the old god into stark, blasphemous illumination.
N’Kari was huge and very fast and enormously strong. Its claw was capable of shearing a fully armoured elf warrior in half with as little effort as a seamstress cutting thread. It could fire bolts of magic at its targets. It was all but invulnerable to mortal weapons.
I am going to die.
Blades shattered on N’Kari’s flanks or passed through flesh that knitted behind them. Whatever protected the daemon seemed random but it was effective.
The invulnerability did not matter. It was not his goal to kill the daemon. Only to waste its time. To draw its attention. His task was to keep himself alive as long as possible. To hold its attention. To save the life of Teclis until he could cast his spell. If he could cast his spell.
I am going to die.
The pitifully few remaining defenders threw themselves forward. The daemon pounced to meet them and rend them asunder.
Time was passing. Every second he did not do something was a second that brought N’Kari closer to victory and Tyrion closer to defeat. He needed to act soon if he was going to act at all. He raised his sword. His hand was steady. He considered wasting an instant to turn to Teclis and wave goodbye but that would merely draw N’Kari’s attention to the one he was trying to keep it from.
I am going to die.
He smiled. He had never expected to live forever. His life was going to prove a lot shorter than he would have wished.
Why was he hesitating?
There were things he still wanted to do and would never get the chance to and once he started he never would. No matter. It was too late for that now anyway.
‘Face me, daemon, and meet your master,’ Tyrion shouted. His voice was as steady as his hand.
Teclis felt the electric thrill of contact with the presence of the god. Knowledge surged into his mind, showing him where to put his hands, how to move his fingers, which words to say. He did what he was told, binding the power and shaping it into a weapon that he knew would prove inimical to the daemon.
He moved in the patterns shown, spoke the words he was told, adapted his mind to