dark city. I waited a little longer, just to make quite sure that I wouldn’t run into another group of nighttime enthusiasts again.
There wasn’t a sound. Nothing but the bats that had appeared in the city from somewhere in the south, soaring through the starry sky.
I wondered what the Doralissians wanted from me. And why did they seem to think that I’d stolen their horse? What would Harold want with a horse? Surely they could have figured that out, even with their goat brains? I listened intently to the silence. Seems like I could get moving again. First I ought to go home for a moment, collect all my important and valuable things, and move to a new lair. I was just about to take a step out of the shadow when someone grabbed hold of me very firmly by the chest and lifted me three yards off the ground with incredible ease.
I was taken completely by surprise. I was scared. I opened my mouth to yell. I raised the crossbow, which was still in my hand, and prepared to shoot. And it was only then that I looked at my attacker.
The howl stuck somewhere in the region of my belly, and I gulped with a quiet gurgle.
Well then . . . There I was, suspended three yards above the ground, flailing my feet about in a hopeless attempt to locate some support, and held tight in the grip of . . . Well, it was probably a demon.
The immense torso seemed to grow straight out of the gray wall of the building. The monster’s body merged smoothly into the shadow. Two immense hands held me in their firm grasp. The head . . . well, it looked like a demon’s head. The standard collection of huge teeth that could slice straight through a knight in armor and his armored steed; foul, stinking breath that must have killed every rat for a league in all directions; scarlet slits for eyes, with pupils like a snake’s.
“H-hi there,” I said as politely and calmly as I could manage, although any townsfolk who weren’t asleep yet could have heard the pounding of my heart. “I’m Harold. Who are you?”
The creature narrowed its eyes even further and shook me like a cat shaking a mouse, but it spoke:
“Vukhdjaaz—the clever demon.”
Brrrr. That breath! The stench of rotten fish had been far more pleasant! “Really?” I said with polite surprise, and the demon gave me another ominous glance. “Ah, yes! Of course, of course! The cleverest of all the demons.”
I had evidently succeeded in flattering the monster, and for a while he forgot about his gastronomic preferences.
“Yes. Vukhdjaaz is clever. He was waiting. Watching. Clever.” The creature nodded its horned head. “When someone read the Spell of Return, Vukhdjaaz managed to hide.”
“Wow!” I said admiringly, and earned a glance of approval from the beast.
Bang! This time the demon didn’t jolt me quite so hard. It didn’t even rattle my teeth.
“All the demons went back into the Darkness, but I stayed.” Another jolt.
“Why?” I asked, puzzled.
“There’s a lot of food here.” His eyes narrowed again and glinted as they stared at me.
H’san’kor! The wrong question.
“I was wondering about something else. Why did all the other demons go back into the Darkness?” I said hastily to distract the hungry creature from bad thoughts about my own humble person.
“Ah,” said the beast, after considering the word “wondering” for a long moment. That was fair enough; it never does any harm to increase your vocabulary. “Some mortal read a spell that ended the freedom of demons in this anthill of men. I’m going to catch him and suck the marrow out of his bones. You haven’t seen anyone round here, have you?”
I shook my head desperately. I thought I knew which particular mortal we were talking about here.
“And who released Vukhdjaaz from the Darkness?” I asked, desperately seeking a way out of this unpleasant situation.
“The Master.” Another jolt.
“The Nameless One?”
The demon only snorted and seared me once again with that hungry glance. This creature had a really great talent for making me feel nervous. Just what was it he saw in me?
“Vukhdjaaz is hungry.”
“Yes?” I squealed, setting my finger on the trigger of the crossbow.
Of course, shooting at a demon with an ordinary crossbow bolt is like pricking an ogre with a pin. It only annoys them even more. But what else could I do?
“Yes. And Vukhdjaaz needs help, too.”
“Perhaps Harold can help you?”
“He can.” Vukhdjaaz inhaled my odor and