up bad. He had his sword out, but he didn’t have any delusion that he could fight . . . that .
The wizard did not speak immediately, and the shape within the cloud stirred impatiently, revealing the shimmer of reptilian scales on the body. “Did you not wish to summon me? Speak my name!”
“Do you want fools as servants, or think me a fool for a sacrifice alone?” The man’s voice was tense. “An uncompleted ritual like this? What guarantees do you offer to make it worth my while to risk my life and soul that way? You and your allies—whoever they were—wanted this as much as we. You have some reason for this, something much greater.” He straightened. “Swear that, though the wards are broken and no spells laid upon you, that you will aid me as though the wards whole, the spells complete, and at the end of the service will seek no harm against me or mine. Swear it in the name of Kerlamion himself, his TRUE name.”
The mazolishta —for Duckweed knew it could be nothing else—hissed again, but somewhat to his surprise—and apparently the wizard’s—the hiss sounded almost pleased. “ Wiser than many. Good. We have need of you, then. H’ved schkalavis mokhteth dergschokh, Kerlamionahlmbana!”
Oh no. Duckweed tensed himself. One last chance, I think.
The wizard cast a terrible triumphant grin at the little Toad and turned back to the shadowy demonic presence. “Then come forth, Voo— ARGH!”
The wizard staggered and fell, clawing at his neck; Duckweed leapt from his shoulder, withdrawing the long, narrow blade he’d plunged deep into the man’s back, evading the grasping hands, somersaulting above as the wizard hit the floor, turning, coming down, twisting his body, the human’s eyes widening, hand reaching, brushing the little Toad’s body, and then—
A terrible impact smashed Duckweed aside into the wall and everything seemed to go dark for a moment. He rolled painfully, groggily, to his feet. Ouch. Rib broken. Maybe more. Moving hurts. He blinked. It is a little darker . . .
The glowing sphere of light the wizard had summoned was gone. In the dim light of the demon-portal and the still-flickering rockfire, the reason was clear. The wizard’s corpse lay, still twitching, on the cold stone, with the hilt of the tiny sword protruding from his throat.
Slowly the little Toad dragged himself over and yanked the sword out. Then he looked up.
The demon’s portal was still there. Beginning to flicker slightly, but still present. “Speak my name.”
“What? I didn’t summon you.”
It laughed, a screeching sound that sounded like tearing steel. “You stopped them, for I would have performed their bidding and your people—and others—would have died. Now you may gain that power for yourself. I will swear the same oath to you I did to this one. Give me my freedom and you shall have that power.”
“Sorry.” The little Toad wiped the sword clean on the dead wizard’s pant leg. “Besides, I don’t know your name, so I can’t do it.”
“Easily remedied. I am Voorith.” The name echoed through the cavern like a threat of fear. “Though your god and I have ever been at war, I care not for that, if only you free me.”
The Toad looked up and suddenly stuck his tongue out. “Go back where you came from, until Blackwart comes and eats you. You look like a bug so I’ll bet he’ll find you tasty!”
The demon screeched in frustration, and with that final denial began to truly fade, its summoners gone and its last chance of escape having rejected it. “Then tell me your name, Toad, as I have told you mine. Our fates have been intertwined, and one day we shall speak our names to each other again.”
Name?
He suddenly realized that this was the moment. He was small, but no longer was he young. But what to choose? For in that choice he would be defined, and there was no changing once chosen. He thought back over the entire adventure, for this surely would give him the answer . .
The wizard did not speak immediately, and the shape within the cloud stirred impatiently, revealing the shimmer of reptilian scales on the body. “Did you not wish to summon me? Speak my name!”
“Do you want fools as servants, or think me a fool for a sacrifice alone?” The man’s voice was tense. “An uncompleted ritual like this? What guarantees do you offer to make it worth my while to risk my life and soul that way? You and your allies—whoever they were—wanted this as much as we. You have some reason for this, something much greater.” He straightened. “Swear that, though the wards are broken and no spells laid upon you, that you will aid me as though the wards whole, the spells complete, and at the end of the service will seek no harm against me or mine. Swear it in the name of Kerlamion himself, his TRUE name.”
The mazolishta —for Duckweed knew it could be nothing else—hissed again, but somewhat to his surprise—and apparently the wizard’s—the hiss sounded almost pleased. “ Wiser than many. Good. We have need of you, then. H’ved schkalavis mokhteth dergschokh, Kerlamionahlmbana!”
Oh no. Duckweed tensed himself. One last chance, I think.
The wizard cast a terrible triumphant grin at the little Toad and turned back to the shadowy demonic presence. “Then come forth, Voo— ARGH!”
The wizard staggered and fell, clawing at his neck; Duckweed leapt from his shoulder, withdrawing the long, narrow blade he’d plunged deep into the man’s back, evading the grasping hands, somersaulting above as the wizard hit the floor, turning, coming down, twisting his body, the human’s eyes widening, hand reaching, brushing the little Toad’s body, and then—
A terrible impact smashed Duckweed aside into the wall and everything seemed to go dark for a moment. He rolled painfully, groggily, to his feet. Ouch. Rib broken. Maybe more. Moving hurts. He blinked. It is a little darker . . .
The glowing sphere of light the wizard had summoned was gone. In the dim light of the demon-portal and the still-flickering rockfire, the reason was clear. The wizard’s corpse lay, still twitching, on the cold stone, with the hilt of the tiny sword protruding from his throat.
Slowly the little Toad dragged himself over and yanked the sword out. Then he looked up.
The demon’s portal was still there. Beginning to flicker slightly, but still present. “Speak my name.”
“What? I didn’t summon you.”
It laughed, a screeching sound that sounded like tearing steel. “You stopped them, for I would have performed their bidding and your people—and others—would have died. Now you may gain that power for yourself. I will swear the same oath to you I did to this one. Give me my freedom and you shall have that power.”
“Sorry.” The little Toad wiped the sword clean on the dead wizard’s pant leg. “Besides, I don’t know your name, so I can’t do it.”
“Easily remedied. I am Voorith.” The name echoed through the cavern like a threat of fear. “Though your god and I have ever been at war, I care not for that, if only you free me.”
The Toad looked up and suddenly stuck his tongue out. “Go back where you came from, until Blackwart comes and eats you. You look like a bug so I’ll bet he’ll find you tasty!”
The demon screeched in frustration, and with that final denial began to truly fade, its summoners gone and its last chance of escape having rejected it. “Then tell me your name, Toad, as I have told you mine. Our fates have been intertwined, and one day we shall speak our names to each other again.”
Name?
He suddenly realized that this was the moment. He was small, but no longer was he young. But what to choose? For in that choice he would be defined, and there was no changing once chosen. He thought back over the entire adventure, for this surely would give him the answer . .
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