"Yes, King," the maelvi cried, and sped away as quickly as he could. It was always a terrible thing to be the messenger to Infestix, and the quicker he was away, the less the probability of his being slain by the dreaded daemon.

Under the circumstances, it was perhaps understandable that the centurion didn't relate the Diseased Ones' warning — that their observations were somewhat clouded, and that the emanations might indicate some form of distortion, a trick That sort of intelligence often spelled death for the one relating it, and despite its malign and hateful nature, the maelvi prized its horrid existence above all else.

Abat-dolor cavalry posted on the wings prevented Infestix's horde from immediately encircling and surrounding the main body. The riders were mounted on hippokeres and vargrlneens. Though few in number, that made them formidable enough that it required some considerable time to drive them off. As the core of dreggals smashed into the demons' center, the other units in Infestix's horde closed and fixed the Abat-dolor where they were. His own demon warriors followed the dreggals, while the other troops moved to encompass the outnumbered resistance. After watching the slaughter for a span, the lord of the netherspheres decided it was time to deal with the situation. His personal guards, the plagante, swept forth with their master in their midst.

"I see you there, Basiliv. You carry the Quadrate Pillars of . . ." Infestix suddenly broke off his mental challenge, allowing the telepathic shout to die in midsentence. What had been the image of the Demiurge had suddenly shifted to another. Not a stone's throw distant, and coming through his guards as if they were mere phantoms, was another one altogether.

Infestix knew that one well enough. It was the spawn of Rexfelis, the adventurer named Gord. In his hand was the sword that had sent Gravestone, the daemon's chief human agent, into oblivion — only the blade was worse now than it had been. Infestix could plainly see destruction dancing from its length in tongues of diamond and jet Flanking the small man were a drow female, in whose hands rested the Eye of Deception, and a man with a kanteel of druldic dweomer. The instrument was of nature, and its harmonies inimical to the netherlife. In its own right it was as potent a thing as the Eye was; yet neither of those things, nor the ones who bore them, caused the greatest of daemons concern. It was the small one with the long sword. . .'.

"You recognize me, worm-fornicator?"

"You should have been expunged as a babe!" Infestix snarled.

"You tried, didn't you? Too bad your tools were so inept, eh? If you had come against me personally, as you did later, then things would have been different."

The crash and roar of the battle seemed distant, dim. Even the melee at hand was taking place as if it were happening underwater. Motion was slow, sound muffled. Waves of silvery music swept forth from the troubador's little harp in patterns that Infestix could discern with a glance. They impacted upon his daemon guards, the demons and dreggals around them, and the notes pierced and slashed the netherbeings as if they were arrows and blades. Darts of energy spat forth from the Eye of Deception too, and where the maroon rays played, more destruction came to his protectors. Infestix realized that the banter from his foe had been nothing but a distraction to allow the closing of the distance that had separated them.

"A clever ruse, you little weasel," Infestix grated. "So much the easier for me to send you to scream for mercy in my domain!" With that, the daemon brought up the malformed thing that was Initiator, the Theorpart, and willed an opening between it and the antispheres. From that channel would come the stuff of total nihility, and upon his adversary would it raven. The material form of the small human would be destroyed, but the soul he would reserve for his own amusement "Now eat death, man ling!" The Theorpart sent forth its lightless stream, but Infestix saw something other than what he expected, something that horrified the master of horrors.

The sword in Gord's hand suddenly shimmered and became two. A crystal blade sprang free from the dark and soared above as a faicon. The jet-black portion simply stretched forth to greet the beam of negativity, drink it, and devour the stuff of nihility. As if some leech feeding, the weapon drew the lightless stuff into its length, became greater, and began to glow with a radiance unknown even to the eyes of the greatest daemon.

"Courflamme thanks you for the refreshment," Gord said with a chuckle as he came, now almost within sword's point of the surprised Infestix.

Something warned the daemon not to try his attack any further. Instead, Infestix brought the Theorpart up to a defensive position over his maggoty head. There was a tinkling screech, and the glowing diamond-length of the crystalline portion of his adversary's strange sword went flying off as a quarrel skitters away after striking granite.

"Aha! Now half of your brand's potency is shattered, would-be champion," Infestix gloated. "Half a sword, half a man. That is but a half-fart's duration in a wind. Now let us see the defense against this!" As he shouted that to Gord, the daemon used Initiator to bring down a roaring column of pure energy upon the place his foe stood. Fractured, showing a crazing throughout its length, the diamond-bright blade still interposed itself between the stuff of consuming force. As its ebon twin had done, so too the crystal sword negated the energy — and at the same time that it absorbed the eye-searing brightness of the blast, the brand's damage was wiped away.

But not all of the energy could be stopped. Gord was bathed in a small part of the force. His being was assaulted, atoms assailed and nearly sundered. It took all of the distillation of powers granted to him to save himself from being blown to nothingness in an explosion that would have devastated iyondagur for a league around. Gord managed, but the drain was enough to bring him to his knees, eyes and ears trickling blood, nose streaming the crimson stuff.

Seeing his adversary in such a condition, Infestix leaped forward to slay Gord personally. The two halves of Courflamme saved him from simple slaughter at that moment Dark and bright blades leaped out, posing twin threats to the daemon, and the fiend Jumped back as quickly as he had sprung, defending himself with the Theorpart. Neither the jet nor the diamond portions of the sword would come near to Initiator, so the defense was effective.

"It is but a matter of time," hissed the daemon master in his moldery voice.

"But not as you assume," Gord countered. He used his last remaining force to restore his body, stand erect and ready himself to fight.

Infestix caused the Theorpart to metamorphose in his hand. It changed from a twisted thing of no particular purpose into a weird sort of pole arm. There was a haft with thin, axelike blades radiating from its head, and lower, leaflike tines with solid spurs at their base. As a spetum or ranseur, the daemon's weapon could catch and snap a sword blade in these latter projections. At its terminus was a foot-long spike. The thing was an axe-mace on the end of a short pike, with holding and disarming capability included. It would be very effective, too, if used at the right distance by a very strong wielder against an incautious opponent.

"No?" Infestix mocked. "Let us see how you manage play with me now, manling! You fight the master now, not the petty servant as you did when you bested Gravestone."

The daemon thrust the weapon at Gord, spun its length with his long arms, then slashed in a horizontal arc. Gord weaved away from the stabbing attack, then had to dance backward as quickly as he could from the long sweep of the glittering edges of the thing. The touch of its pointed end sent showers of fiery sparks flying from the shadow armor that protected his chest, and that brief kiss knocked the young champion off his feet.