Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
This would take some finer control, actually influencing the Heirloom to create the right thickness and length of threads to leash the hellhounds, not to mention commanding them to lasso the creatures coming from so many different directions.
Heirloom or no Heirloom, Braiden still only had the one brain. This was a far more complicated spell than he was used to. He took a deep breath, then pushed his essence into the instrument.
Valefour vanished and reappeared in puffs of smoke and brilliant plumes of fire, zipping around the battlefield with impressive alacrity. That sealed it, then. The portal’s opening had definitely strengthened the demons’ natural talents.
Valefour teleported straight into the path of a hellhound, which yelped at the sudden appearance of an entire person in its path.
He took the momentary distraction as a chance to lock the hellhound in a wrestling hold, teleporting the creature far away, far behind the portal’s position, ensuring it would need to run the long distance to close its jaws around a victim.
Perhaps it would exhaust the creature, too.
If only Valefour wouldn’t tire himself out, first. He repeated the tactic, but even as Braiden focused his weaving magic into the Heirloom, he could see how Valefour’s breaths were coming harder now, a sheen of sweat on his brow.
Warren and Elyssandra darted in and out of the fray, doing what little they could to fend off the hellhounds and keep their snapping teeth at bay. As for Elder Bahul — nowhere in sight. Who could say?
The chatterboxes swept in as seven distinct distractions, their fiery breaths barely tickling the hellhounds.
Impervious to fire, the creatures only barreled onward, ignoring the flames.
A few saw the chatterboxes as a dog sees a ball, leaping into the air to clamp at them with their teeth, like a game of fetch.
The chatterboxes screamed and scattered, too disturbed to turn to their usual strategy of battering their enemies like cannonballs.
“Ow, ow, ow,” one of the chatterboxes droned as a hellhound gnawed on it like a bone. That took one of the dogs out of the fight, at least.
But the most tempting of targets was, of course, the person made entirely of bones, a walking, talking chew toy.
Three of the hellhounds closed in on Bones, biting on his various limbs, slavering and snarling as they fought over his body.
The Heirloom played a discordant tune as Bones unsuccessfully held on for dear life. The portal wavered.
“Ow!” Bones yelled. “My everything!”
But another sound filled the air, adding another layer to the cacophonous orchestra, so dissonant and chaotic now that the demons had to simultaneously defend themselves. The loud thunder of the horn blast sounded like none of their instruments.
Augustin Arcosa strode into view, a twisting black horn pressed to his lips. It was the gift from the Mothergoat. Braiden strained to concentrate on his spell as the sound shook the air.
A golden sphere of light appeared in the air before them, a black line splitting the middle: the Mothergoat’s eye.
Out of the black slit emerged an othergoat, and then another, until a dozen had tumbled out of the portal and onto the ground.
They turned to Augustin as if in recognition, bleating and baaing in greeting.
One of them — a familiar white pattern on its face — hopped up and down in place, already excited for what was to come.
“Say no more,” Augustin said, sweeping his arm forward and conjuring a colossal gust of wind.
The othergoats bleated in delight as they scattered like lawn bowls, each somehow soaring toward a different hellhound.
Again the flames didn’t harm the creatures, but the impact and tremendous explosions certainly did.
The hellhounds yowled, beaten back by the othergoat bombardment.
One by one, bathed in globes of golden light, the othergoats disappeared home to Yhip Valley.
The three hellhounds fighting over Bones went yipping away with their tails between their legs. Muttering to himself in annoyance, Bones shook off the saliva still clinging to his body, then went back to strumming the Heirloom.
Seeing Augustin’s precise control over his abilities was all the inspiration Braiden needed.
With a final weave into the Heirloom, he strummed his fingers along the strings, sending out a torrent of threads to ensnare each of the hellhounds.
His jaw dropped at the display of magic, knowing he could never have achieved this without the Heirloom’s amplification.
The hellhounds howled as one. Braiden could feel them tugging against the Heirloom’s restraints — but more than that, he could feel a tugging in the air, as if the combined howls were pulling something else through the portal.
Two somethings, in fact. Braiden stared agog at the top of the archway, finally understanding why the demons had built it so tall.
Bowing their heads so they could pass through were two enormous hellhounds the size of buildings.
Each could almost certainly devour Braiden or any of his friends in a single gulp.
Together they howled in answer to their children. The ground trembled.
“It’s the parents!” Ophidia shouted from above. “Fido and Jemima!”
The utterly mundane names gave Braiden enough pause for thought. Would these creatures recognize their former masters?
“Newt!” Braiden shouted. “Would these hellhounds obey you if they remembered who you were?”
“Maybe?” Newt answered with a shrug. “Possibly?”
They watched as Valefour teleported straight into Fido’s path. The hellhound eyed him cautiously, then slammed a paw where he stood, leaving nothing but a smoking crater. Braiden exhaled in relief when he saw Valefour had teleported away again, winded and shaken, but still in one piece.
“They’re not going to remember so easily,” Warren said. “Not unless they get a good whiff of you. It’s part of how my people recognize even distant descendants. By smell.”
Newt strode forward, his hands balled into fists. “Or by taste.”
“What?” Elyssandra cried, incredulous. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Stringy,” Newt said. “Windbag. Make me a sail, then blow me up in the air, will you?”
Ignoring for the moment the fact that Bones had clearly taught Newt their unflattering nicknames, Braiden quickly stitched a square of cloth, unfurling it from the Heirloom.
Newt had a point. His skin somehow seemed even more metallic, as if he wasn’t only the color of bronze, but made out of it, too.
Newt snatched the cloth out of the air, gripping its corners with his hands and his surprisingly prehensile feet.
He gave Augustin a firm, determined nod.
Augustin swept his hand from waist level and up over his head.
A powerful spout of wind caught in Newt’s makeshift sail and sent him rocketing up into the air.
The imp left a trail of ululations that sounded both delighted and terrified. Fido and Jemima turned their heads, then tilted them, puzzled at the sight of the little shiny thing flying up into their faces. Then, in a single decisive snap, Jemima snatched Newt out of the air with her great jaws.
And then Jemima began to chew.
Screams of horror filled the air. Braiden’s stomach dropped. Had Newt truly sacrificed himself just to save everyone else?
But there it was, stuck between her teeth, gnashed over and over in every frustrated bite — it was Newt lying on his back, looking slightly bored, his bronze skin even shinier now that he was covered in a layer of hellhound saliva.
Jemima stopped suddenly, then with a great retch, spat Newt onto the ground. The imp landed there with a metallic thunk, like an anvil dropped out of the air. Fido bent his head to sniff at him, then extended his flaming tongue to lick Newt, bathing him in a flurry of doggie kisses.
Jemima joined him, both whining with the affection of pet dogs who hadn’t seen their loved ones in ages. Their litter stopped straining at the Heirloom’s leashes, tilting their heads and watching with canine curiosity as their parents treated Newt to a flurry of fiery licks.
Valefour approached gingerly, receiving the same treatment from the hellhound pair, laughing even as their tongues lapped at his entire suit of armor.
Ophidia flew nearer, too, offering a tentative pat on Jemima’s head, sighing in relief when the hellhound leaned into her touch.
Lucie joined in, laughing as she ran her fingers through the great beast’s fur.
Bones leapt up into the air and punched his fist at the ceiling.
“We did it! I mean, you did it. I mean, we all did it together.”
He jumped excitedly in place, hopping up and down, very much like his burrowfolk best friend. The party clapped each other’s backs in congratulations.
All except Braiden, still too dazed with the realization of what he’d done, some of the greatest weaving work he’d ever performed. The Heirloom was a powerful artifact indeed.
And then, landing from his fourth jump, Bones’s cheering was cut short as he collapsed into a pile of bones.
Elyssandra was the first to react, sputtering in panic until she placed her hands over the scattered pile.
“I can still sense the magic radiating from his bones,” she said. “He’s alive. Or undead. You know what I mean.”
Something emanated from the skull that lay atop the pile.
“Warren,” it whispered. “Come close.”
Warren bent in, picking up the skull so he could listen more closely. Again the skull said, “Closer,” and so Warren bent his ear to listen even harder.
Even Braiden could hear Bones’s stage whisper. “I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I just know that this is your fault. Ahhh.”
After that ominous exhalation, the skull rolled onto its side, then went still. Braiden licked his lips, watching the tableau with a mix of tension and fear. “Is he — gone?”
The skeleton started snoring. Warren rolled his eyes.
“Well, it turns out that everything’s going to be fine,” Augustin said, “for the most part. But if the Heirloom took that much out of friend Bones, then that means — ”
Braiden removed himself from the Heirloom at about that moment, an epiphany come too late. Something like magnetic force caused his fingers to cling to the Heirloom, as if it didn’t want to let go. But as soon as his touch left the instrument, a wave of exhaustion flooded throughout his body.
“Oh, no,” he said, before he fell backward, straight into Augustin’s waiting arms.
“We should have known,” Augustin said, a smile in his voice. “But worry not. With enough rest and nutrition, you’ll be back to fighting form in no time.”
Fighting? Braiden thought. No thanks. Even this final confrontation with the hellhounds had been too much action for one day.
He struggled to focus on the very top of the cavern far above them. He blinked, then saw the familiar wooden boards and plaster of his shop’s ceiling. Uh-oh. And here came the hallucinations.
“Do you think Craghammer’s doing okay on his own?” he murmured.
Elyssandra chuckled, feeling at his forehead and stroking a lock of hair out of his eyes. “I’m sure he’s doing just fine.”
It was taking too much effort to stay awake now. Braiden stroked a lazy finger along the underside of Augustin’s beard, smiling dreamily.
“Remember how that tidal wave in Whiteport knocked you out for a week?”
Augustin cocked an eyebrow. “Er, yes?”
“I think I get it now.”
Braiden Beadle slept for an entire week.