Now, however, the netherfiend knew that it must make the dirty human mage who had summoned it to this torture release it to return to the pits. Krung tore its hand free of the spear point, leaped sideways, and then bounded in a shambling gait to where Sigildark was crouched over the still form of the stunned young adventurer.

"Loose my binding now, man!" the shrill voice of the daemon-thing piped. "Quickly — else I'll tear out your eyes!" To emphasize the threat. Krung reached for Sigildark's face with its ichor-dripping left hand that bore the puncture from Greenleafs stall-spear. Of course. Krung would not have harmed the mage — at least not until after he had freed the netherfiend from bondage of service there in Gravestone's null-space. Pain and fear made the fiend careless, however, and Krung's talons raked Sigildark's cheek even as the spell-binder shrank back from the threat.

The slaying of the helpless Gord forgotten. Sigildark reacted as anyone of like malice would. "Rot you, dog's turd!" the sorcerer snarled, thinking that surely the netherfiend had gone totally out of control. "Here's how you'll be freed!" And so saying, Sigildark shot forth a series of five glowing darts of burning force from his extended hand. These missiles of fell energy struck Krung squarely upon its broad, deformed chest and caused the creature to jerk upright and dance and howl in awful agony.

Sigildark was both amazed and pleased. He had not expected quite so profound a reaction to his magic, for the attack had been of only moderate power against so powerful a denizen of the netherworld. Often, in fact, such dweomers as he had employed were of no use at all, for the aural shield of nether-things negated many such assaults. Krung gyrated, and in so doing showed Sigildark the true reason for its incredible reaction. Even as the spell-caster had struck the netherfiend with his evoked energy bolts, one of the invaders had simultaneously fallen upon the creature from the rear. Krung's back was laid open to the black-boned spine.

It took only an instant for Sigildark to assess the situation. There were two spell-workers ignoring the melee. Both were seeking a means of ascending to where Gravestone lurked. Good! That one should have to bear his share of the peril, Sigildark thought. Of the remainder, one was knocked senseless, and three others now confronted the black-hearted mage. The one with a glittering, false eye was about to strike Krung again. That one had been responsible for the netherfiend's ghastly back wound. Close to him, a rotund fellow of half-elven sort was jabbing with a narrow-bladed spear; thus, both were likely to be engaged in combating the fiend for a bit of time yet.

That left only one opponent for Sigildark. He was a tall and brawny warrior armed with a massive battle-axe. No doubt a barbarian of some sort — one long on muscle and short on brains, but dangerous as a wild animal!

Truce, comrade!" the wizard shouted to the advancing axeman. "The daemon is our mutual enemy." The statements were loaded with a heavy dweomer of persuasiveness. Let the fool but join the attack upon the netherfiend, and he, Sigildark, would strike the lot with such a casting as would fry them all and send them to their doom!

Chert was brought up abruptly by the call. He shook his head, hesitated a split-second, then replied, "Aye, I ken your meaning, mage!" Without further ado, the giant hefted his axe and fell upon the embattled Krung, Brool buzzing and then striking home with a meaty thud as punctuation to its drone.

Left unmolested, Sigildark fairly crooned in glee as he began conjuring the spell that would strike his foes dead with an awful blast of fire and force. The bard engaged against the daemon was singing some sort of magical verse, and the pale dweomer was causing Krung to be hacked to bits. Song, spell, combat — none of that disturbed Sigildark in his own casting. A parchment "hand" filled with the material of the spell he was working flew into the air as he gestured. Only a few more syllables now, and the thing would be done.

Many magicians could bring forth fireballs, but Sigildark's evil spell wrought a clinging, purplish flame coupled with a gaseous explosion that was of far greater bane to those within its fell radius. Even opponents as powerful, as mightily protected by enchantments and magical equipage, as the three locked in melee with Krung would have no chance to survive the thunderfire he was about to bring down upon them. Krung would be slain too, of course, but that was of no import.

After the thunderfire had struck, he would take time for one quick slash across the throat of the one the netherfiend had stunned, and then Sigildark would creep up behind the pair of dolts who sought their demise at Gravestone's hand. One corner of the dark wizard's mind wondered about the possibility of those two managing to kill the priest-wizard. Most unlikely. Another corner of Sigildark's mind nagged him about something else, but the spell was too close to completion, so the mage simply shoved the worrying voice back. It would have been better for him to have not done so.

"Death!" Gord shouted, a second before he plied both his longsword and his terrible dagger against the spell-caster's unsuspecting back. Normally, the young thief would have struck silently. But in order to disrupt the magic that Sigildark was in the midst of working, in order to do his utmost to prevent the dweomer from striking his three friends, Gord cried aloud just as he attacked.

The great shout did break Sigildark's concentration, but the brief warning it gave him did not enable the evil wizard to avoid being struck by the enchanted blades thrust into him. The sooty length of Blackheartseeker failed to find Sigildark's wicked heart, however. It glanced off a rib and cut a fiery track along the dweomercraefter's side instead. The long dagger did much better, sinking well into his lower back.

"Ahhh! No!" The screech came unbidden from his lips, as the dark wizard felt pain far worse than the wrenching of his mind as the casting was broken uncompleted. He tried to turn, to use his magic against the one who had so sorely harmed him. Then that part of Sigildark's brain that had been trying to warn him burst forth into his consciousness: "Fool, fool, fool!" The prone man had not been where he should have been when the thunderfire calling began! These thoughts were a most unfortunate distraction for the mage. Sigildark should have been fleeing for his life.

Gord released his hold on the imbedded dagger in order to use both hands to grip the longsword. With the double grasp, he brought the blade up and down so quickly that he caught the mage in half-turn. Charm, spell, amulet, enchantment, talisman — none of the protections worn, carried, or placed upon his person were proof against that attack.

The dull ebon of the sword's blade scythed to cut through cloak and robe and girdle. It cut skin and flesh and innards, too. Sigildark grabbed at his stomach, pushing back the sausagelike things that tried to slide forth through the awful wound. Standing thus, partially bent and unaware of all else, Gord struck and delivered the coup de grace to the malign spell-binder, cleaving his head from his body, and Sigildark's rotten soul went from him that instant. Although Gord didn't know it, Infestix did soon enough, and even that one quailed despite his glee at having such a prize.

There was a hooting, a whining behind him, so Gord brought his sword up and spun, ready to defend himself. He was in time to witness the demise of Krung, albeit only the death of the netherfiend's material form used to convey the monster on this plane. As If by whim alone, the young champion who opposed Tharizdun and all his vile servitors came to stand beside the netherfiend as it slowly expired. The thing seemed to recognize Gord. It spat a weak glob of disgusting spittle and stuck out its obscene tongue.