Centaur Ranch

Chapter 35—All Hell

            When the demon began digging at the roots of the magic wall, the huge spell that held everything together on the farm together began to deteriorate. That included the protective spells that kept the centaurs penned in the stables.

            Oak beams and nails were nothing compared to the wrath of an angry centaur, let alone three. Roemer, Charryl, and Sisk had managed to widen the hole that Eric had created when he slipped free of the stables, and as one the three of them burst from their prison in a flurry of wicked black hooves and makeshift weapons.

            “Get away from Diddle!” Sisk roared, hurling a weighted beam with a nail on one end over her head so that it spun through the air and beaned the demon in the shoulder. Surprised, the demon lurched onto its hind legs, a look that said, “Oh, no, not these things again!” on its knobby features.

            Roemer was the fastest—and, probably, the most terrifying—of the three, and it was she who reached the demon first.

            Without even breaking stride, she seized the demon’s right horn in her fist as it swung its head around in confusion. Her left arm went back, and the demon had maybe two seconds to react before Roemer’s ironlike fist smashed into its jaw and snapped its head sideways.

            Still running at full gallop, Roemer followed the momentum of her blow, yanking the demon’s head even further sideways as she trampled across its toes, all the while yelling savagely.

            The demon managed to yank its horn out of her grasp, and it limped away with an angry bellow, still bewildered by the sudden turn of events. Roemer let go of its horn and slid to a halt a few meters away, stamping her hooves in challenge.

            “…And here I was thinking you would put up some sort of a fight,” she growled dangerously, kneading her fists so that her knuckles cracked. For a moment, even the demon looked scared.

“You’ve hurt my son’s best friend!” she roared. “Time to pay the price!”

            Sisk and Charryl caught up with Roemer just in time to join her as the fierce centaur captain charged towards the demon. The three of them fell on the monster all at once, Charryl with two more nail-studded beams to serve as makeshift clubs and Sisk with the old grain pail. Roemer carried no weapon, nor did she need one. She used her fists as bludgeons, hammering away at the demon’s leathery hide while kicking at its legs and gut with her hooves.

            The demon roared angrily as it fought off its attackers, but the sound was almost drowned by the pounding of centaur hooves against the ground and the metallic ringing of Sisk’s pail repeatedly connecting with its face. The ruckus the four of them made was incredible…and it was music to Diddle’s ears.

            Unfortunately, he still had some problems of his own to deal with.

            The appearance of the centaurs had shocked Aver just as much as it had Diddle, and for a minute or two, the two of them simply stood side by side, watching the demon get its face kicked inside out by centaur hooves. There was a moment when the two of them turned to look at one another, not really friends or enemies, but simply two shocked bystanders at the edge of a raging battle.

            Then Aver’s face grew dark again.

            “You!” he snarled, charging towards Diddle with his hands outstretched like claws. His face was all twisted and glimmering with scales, like some sort of demonic bulldog that had stuck its face in a fish gut pile.

            “You’ve tried to destroy my master!” the lesser demon shrieked, all traces of sanity or control completely gone. “I will kill you for this!”

            Diddle dodged Aver’s first swipe, his ribcage giving a painful twinge of protest.

            His injury wasn’t really that bad. It hadn’t been very deep, and was beginning to scab over and look like a potentially cool battle scar. Unfortunately, it was slowing Diddle down, and his quick jumps and sprints to stay away from Aver’s slashing claws were becoming sloppier and slower.

            There came one attack that Diddle knew he couldn’t dodge.

            He knew if he tried to jump away, Aver would slash him open with those wicked claws and drop his intestines onto the ground. If he ducked, he might not get up again in time, and end up much the same way. Since he couldn’t jump high enough to avoid Aver’s hands, that left only one other option.

            Diddle leaped forward and hugged Aver.

            Aver was surprised, so Diddle had enough time to turn around in the lesser demon’s arms and grab Aver’s wrists in his hands. He then pulled them in to his chest, crossing Aver’s arms and using his armpits to trap the lesser demon’s biceps. Surprised, Aver tried to wrench away, but it proved to be a hard hold to break away from.

            It was now a matter of who was stronger.

            Aver stumbled, yanking at his arms in an attempt to pull them free of Diddle’s grip. Diddle hung on tenaciously, his fingernails digging into Aver’s wrists and his armpits sore from clamping down on the lesser demon’s biceps. Growling in annoyance, Aver tried to bring his foot up and kick Diddle off, but Diddle slammed his heel into the butler’s knee and threw him off-balance.

            The two of them stumbled around in the torn-up remains of the field, Aver trying not to fall over and Diddle holding on for dear life. Already, he could feel his grip weakening, his sweaty fingers slipping as Aver yanked backwards with his arms. As a last-ditch attempt, Diddle tried slamming his head backwards into Aver’s nose, hoping to knock the butler out or, at the very least, break something. It was a dumb idea.

            Unfortunately for Diddle, Aver’s face was like a rock. Diddle’s vision went blurry for a moment as his skull connected with the scales on the butler’s face, though he felt something give—probably the demon’s nose. He felt Aver’s arms slip loose, and he knew it was over.

            Diddle decided to go out with a bang this time, and so he curled his hand into a fist and swung around so he could have the satisfaction of punching Aver in the face one last time.

            Aver’s expression made him stop.

            The lesser demon didn’t look triumphant or angry. He wasn’t even looking at Diddle. His ugly, shiny face—now even uglier because of his broken nose—was facing the woods, his yellow eyes wide and his pupils contracted down to nearly invisible slits. His jagged, toothy mouth was hanging open in terror.

            “The-they’re back!” he hissed.

            Diddle turned to see what on earth Aver was talking about. The sight that met him was almost as terrifying to him as it was to the lesser demon.

            The shreeks were back.

            They hadn’t just come in a little group of two or three this time—it was the entire nest. About a dozen of the towering, milky-white monsters were gathered at the edge of the woods, their sightless eyes somehow fixed directly on Aver and Diddle and their mouths hanging open.

            But they weren’t attacking.

            Their heads were raised expectantly, and their muscles tensed to run, but their spiny neck frills remained flattened against their heads and their feet planted in place, as if they were awaiting some order that had yet to be given.

            Confused, Diddle searched for a Wyrn shreek, but none of them seemed to be in charge. He couldn’t understand why they were holding back, or how they had managed to re-band so quickly after he and Reel had driven them away. He was confused, that is, until a lone, smallish, dirty-gray figure stepped from amidst the huge monsters, his fur and hair tangled with burrs and twigs but his back straight and his inky black eyes shining.

            “Get the lesser demon!” Reel roared, rearing onto his hind legs and charging.

            The shreeks responded like trained dogs, their frills shooting upright eagerly as they charged forward, and a familiar hunting cry rising from their throats. Despite Reel’s long legs, the shreeks quickly outstripped him, and all Diddle could see was an advancing wall of white hide and teeth as the monsters bore down on him and Aver.

            Fortunately, Diddle’s muscles didn’t lock in place out of pure panic. He had sense enough to make a run for it, avoiding Aver as the lesser demon took off in the opposite direction. It was fortunate for Diddle that they split up, otherwise the shreeks may not have bothered to distinguish demon from diddle.

            When he realized he wasn’t being followed, Diddle stopped and whirled around. He caught a brief glimpse of Aver as the lesser demon sprinted for the safety of the stables. The former butler’s face didn’t look intimidating at all anymore—simply scared and ugly. His stiff black uniform was in rags at that point, the shredded cuffs trailing behind his arms and his ripped coattails flapping in his wake, inches from the jaws of the fastest shreek.

            Diddle had never seen another humanoid creature book it that fast before. Aver’s legs were turning about so fast that they were little more than a black blur, and a tiny cloud of dust rose in his wake as he pounded across the hard-packed ground of the centaur pasture. Unfortunately for him, however, he was hopelessly outmatched. Behind him, the white mass of shreeks was gaining, and inevitably his luck gave out. The snout of the nearest shreek was drawing steadily closer and closer to him, and finally its tooth happened to snag on the tip of the lesser demon’s coattail. Aver stumbled, managed to right himself when the cloth ripped, only to suddenly find himself surrounded by the nest.

Diddle got one last glimpse of the lesser demon before the huge creatures overran him. Aver was in rags, obviously exhausted, but somehow defiant and angry as ever. He hissed viciously at the first shreek to reach him, and made a lunge for the creature’s throat. Surprised, the shreek swayed sideways to avoid the attack, and allowed the lesser demon to run into the tough, leathery skin on its ribs. Aver shrieked in frustration, and then he was lost as the huge creatures overran him.

By the time they were finished, Aver had been reduced to a scattering of black shreds of cloth on the ground, the occasional scale dotting the heap like glitter. There wasn’t a bone or drop of blood to be found.

            Diddle shuddered; Aver was a horrible creature, and probably would have done the same to Diddle, but it still was a pretty grisly way to go.

            “Diddle!”

            Diddle had time enough to halfway turn around before he was suddenly engulfed in a painful bear hug that made his ribs feel like they were on fire all over again.

            “Mmf! Reel!” Diddle choked, flailing his arms weakly. Thankfully, Reel released him before anything cracked, and he was able to breathe again after he’d dropped to the ground.

            “You’re alive!” Reel said, grinning and whinnying a little in excitement. Diddle grinned back.

            “Strangely enough,” he said. “And so are yo—Whoa!”

            Diddle started with surprise as he suddenly realized that Reel wasn’t alone. Behind the little centaur, towering over the two of them like a gigantic white tree, stood another shreek. It was a little bigger than the others, but it had a different look to it. Its spines were flattened meekly to its head, and its head was cocked in an almost playful manner. As Diddle watched, a shred of ripped magic fluttered past its nose, and the shreek’s spines perked expectantly. It gave a playful snap at the shred, and then sneezed as the piece tickled its nose.

            “Is that…” he asked, unbelieving.

            “The Wyrn shreek, yeah,” Reel said, patting the shreek’s chest. “I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to help my mom and the others!”ose.

            “Is that…” he asked, unbelieving.

            “The Wyrn shreek, yeah,” Reel said, patting the shreek’s chest. “I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to help my mom and the others!”

Chapter 30—Pursuit

            Nero was right—the shreeks were not hard to track at all.

            Diddle had exited the wall at the place where he and Jyro had first experimented with the spell holding her inside, this time walking through completely. The feeling of being disconnected from half his body was unnerving, but it only lasted a moment before Diddle was completely on the other side. Once there, he realized just how bad things had been getting without Anajyrosima to control the weather.

            The wind was beginning to pick up, shaking and bending the towering trees that surrounded the farm so that their leaves rattled ominously in the wind and their boughs creaked loudly. The storm clouds building above the wall were huge, black, and anvil-shaped, occasionally flickering with thin bolts of lightning. Everything looked to be resisting some sort of huge catastrophe, something that had been building ever since Jyro’s disappearance and was on the verge of bursting. The weather needed Jyro back; that much Diddle was sure of.

            Orienting himself with the shadowy form of the stables just beyond the wall, Diddle began making his way around the edge of the farm’s property, keeping the pasture on his right and the trees on his left. He kept his eyes carefully peeled for anything out of the ordinary—a broken twig, a large footprint, or a scratch in a tree trunk—that might show him where the shreeks had gone. When he found what he was looking for, he felt a little stupid for being so careful.

            The shreeks had basically ripped apart the undergrowth where they’d passed through. There was a huge swath of cleared land leading right up to the wall, surrounded on all sides by tangled piles of old, dried brambles and dead saplings. The ground on the path was pounded into a rock-like surface by the passage of dozens of feet, with only the occasional impression of a huge, clawed toe at the edges to tell Diddle exactly how big a creature he was dealing with.

From those occasional toe marks, however, he could tell that the creatures were a lot bigger than he’d imagined. His mind balked for a moment at the idea of pressing onward, images of gigantic, blind, bipedal lizards with long, sharp teeth invading his mind.

Diddle shook his head. Yes, these creatures were monstrous and yes, this was probably the most terrifying and/or dangerous thing he’d ever attempted in his life…and yes, his mother would probably kill him ten times over if she found out what he was doing. But Reel was in even more danger, and Diddle was the only person who could save him. Plus, Roemer would murder him if she found out he’d run away.

Patting the whistle in his pocket to make sure it was there, Diddle set off into the darkness of the forest.

Diddle was worried that the shreeks might have posted sentinels on the path, so he kept off to one side of it, weaving through the underbrush while keeping the path to his left, just within sight. He prided himself on his forest walking, but even he had problems negotiating the thick brambles as they clutched and pulled at his legs. After a few minutes, his arms looked as if they’d been mauled by an angry cat.

Around him, the landscape was changing. The trees were getting older as he went on, the trunks thicker and the roots that twined about at their feet bigger. The undergrowth thinned, much to Diddle’s relief, and he was able to pad forward on the thick carpet of roots and moss underneath without making a sound.

As he progressed towards the oldest part of the forest, a sense of foreboding began to settle on Diddle. He found himself glancing around at the surrounding shadows more and more frequently, constantly checking to make sure the path was still to his left. He had the feeling that he was wandering into something far more dangerous than he’d bargained for.

Up ahead, Diddle began noticing odd patches in the ground where huge trees had been uprooted, the ground torn and twisted, snapped roots poking out of the earth. Diddle had only to follow the trail of missing trees, tracking the huge holes in the earth and the mammoth, three-toed footprints back to the very center of the old growth grove, where the shreeks had built their nest.

It appeared as a huge, black blob in the dying light of the forest when Diddle finally stumbled upon it. The tangled, twisting forms of tree boughs stretched into the air as black silhouettes, outlined by the canopy of trees overhead. The hard-packed path that Diddle had followed was one among several, all of which seemed to lead right back to a large, black hole in the side of the nest. The path that led to the farm was the most used, though.

There were no sentries, but Diddle wasn’t stupid enough to simply walk inside and trust that the shreeks weren’t gathered out of view just waiting for him. He kept hidden in the shadows, his eyes searching the edges of the nest for some way to scale it. The nest itself didn’t look like the best climbing surface. True, there were plenty of handholds, but there were tons of poky branches that would probably catch at his clothes and stab at his eyes. It didn’t look very stable, either, like it might collapse if he put too much weight on it.

He settled instead for an old, twisting maple tree that hung over the edge of the nest. Most of the good climbing branches were up high, but that was no problem for Diddle.

            Double-checking to make sure nothing was watching, Diddle backed up into the shadows, his eyes fixed on the tree and his legs coiled beneath him. He moved onto his toes, steadying himself against the ground with one hand, and silently calculated the best spot to start in order to not bang his head against a branch. When he had his spot mentally marked, he quickly scanned the forest floor, searching out anything that might trip him up. When he was satisfied, he took off.

            His crouched legs shot him forward like a bullet into an all-out sprint, his feet dancing nimbly across the carpet of twisting roots. He reached the base of the tree and pushed off the ground, running a few feet vertically up the tree before he was forced to lean forward and grab the thick, furrowed bark in his hands.

            Still he kept his momentum going, his feet launching him off the trunk while his hands instinctively sought out near-invisible handholds in the space of a few heartbeats. He reached the lowest branch mere seconds after touching the base of the tree, and he quickly swung himself over and onto the branch to crouch with his back against the main trunk and his feet balanced lightly on the rounded surface of the branch. He quickly checked his breathing and slowed his racing heart down to normal.

            All without making a sound.

            Normally, had he been climbing a tree at home in his back yard, Diddle might have paused a moment to gloat over having scaled a tree of such size. This time, however, he knew that the tree was the least of the obstacles he would have to overcome. Getting Reel out of the nest under the very noses of the shreeks would be hard. If Reel was injured, doubly so. If the shreeks were outside the nest at the moment, the two of them might stand half a chance. If not, then things would probably be a little more interesting than Diddle liked. Either way, there was only one way to find out.

            Diddle had made sure to keep the main trunk of the tree between himself and the nest as he climbed, keeping himself hidden. After positioning himself more comfortably on the branch he was perched on, he cautiously poked his head around the trunk, careful to keep to the shadowed side so the paleness of his face wouldn’t give him away. He needn’t have bothered; even in the half-daylight of the slowly waning sun, the deep gloom of the forest almost seemed tangible, as if the darkness itself was alive. Diddle’s small, inconsequential figure was swallowed by the vast forms of the trees surrounding him, making him veritably invisible to his enemies. Fortunately, there didn’t appear to be any in the nest at the moment.

            He could see Reel. The small, gangly-legged centaur was sprawled on his side at the edge of the clearing, about twenty feet away from the door to the nest. He was conscious, but his face was pale and drawn and his teeth were clenched together in a pained grimace. His silvery hair was matted with dirt and sweat, and his face smudged with dirt run through with pale streaks that showed he’d been crying. There was no one guarding him, but there was no need for that, anyway. His left foreleg sported a set of bloody streaks where his attackers had clamped their jaws about it to drag him away. There were similar streaks decorating his bare shoulders and torso, though they were little more than scratches and appeared to have been made by the glancing touch of claws rather than teeth. Reel was alive at least, though for how long, Diddle could not say.

            Reel was one of many victims, though he appeared to be the only living one at the moment. Cow carcasses and random chunks of unidentifiable meat were strewn all across the clearing, which looked as though it had been forcefully cleared of trees then stomped flat by a family of large animals. Uprooted tree trunks and the severed boughs of gigantic trees were weaved into a crude, tangled excuse for a wall around the perimeter of the clearing. Inside the wall, the ground was packed down into a rock-like surface, with the occasional shard of chewed bone embedded in the dirt like a fossil. There was a single “door” that led into the clearing, which was little more than a ragged gap in the fence of debris. It was through this gap that Diddle saw the first specimen of his enemy. He silently cursed as the creature tromped through the doorway, its footsteps heavy and thudding.

            It walked on two legs like a giant, white, lizard-like chicken, though infinitely more horrible to look at. It had a thick, wedge-shaped tail like a dinosaur to counterbalance its thick, arched neck and massive skull. Its weight was supported by a pair of muscular legs tipped with long, dagger claws. It had forearms, but they were smaller than the hind legs, almost vestigial, and were kept curled at the creature’s chest like the useless wings of a chicken. These, too were clawed, though they didn’t look half as dangerous as the creature’s mouth.

            The creature’s head was long and narrow like a horse, with flattened, spiny frills projecting from behind the jaw that flowed up to the peak of its head and continued down its spine. When the creature opened its mouth, its head split in two, revealing rows of long, needle thin teeth arranged on either side of a long, forked tongue that flicked about eagerly to taste the air like a snake. The vice-like jaws clicked softly whenever it snapped its mouth closed, which it seemed to use as a sort of Morse code as it spoke to two others that had followed it into the clearing. Diddle noted that none of them had pupils, only white, sightless eyeballs that stared blindly at nothing. Whenever they “spoke” to one another, they turned their heads sideways to better hear one another instead of facing each other. Despite his fear, an indistinct idea crept into Diddle’s head.

            By this time, a group of about ten of the creatures had entered the clearing. They rattled and clicked conversationally, occasionally making a noise in the back of their throat that had the shrieking quality of a cat in pain. Diddle noticed that most exchanges of the strange sound seemed to come from two particularly large individuals, both of which seemed to be engaged in some sort of quarrel.

            There was no telling what the argument was about, nor was there any way to tell which creature was in the right, but the confrontation suddenly reached its peak in a sudden display of such violence that Diddle was left feeling as if he were about to throw up.

            There were two monsters; one bigger than the other and scarred all across its neck and chest from past battles fought and won—the leader. The smaller of the two creatures, whom Diddle assumed to be some rival for control of the nest, suddenly feinted a quick lunge for the other’s throat. The move seemed to be little more than a threat, but the bigger creature took the attack quite seriously.

            The thin, hair-like spikes that ran down the creature’s spine from its head to the tip of its tail suddenly flattened, while the frilled spines behind its head suddenly shot upward with a noise like a snake hissing just before it struck. The creature’s mouth opened, and it gave a cry unlike anything Diddle had ever heard before.

            It was similar to the cat-like sound it had been making before, only it was louder, shriller, and more sudden than before. It made Diddle’s neck hairs stand on end, and he heard a flock of birds take off from fright somewhere off in the distance. It was the sound that had given these creatures their name: the shreeks.

            Like a cobra striking its prey, the bigger creature lashed its head forward with its jaws still agape, its blind eyes rolling excitedly in their sockets with battle fever. The second shreek screamed shrilly and tried to dodge, but those terrible teeth fastened about its throat before it could move and pinned it in place. For a moment, the smaller creature struggled to wrench free of the larger one’s jaws, its hind legs clawing frantically at the ground and its useless front legs waving towards the belly of its attacker. Then, with a swift wrench of the bigger shreek’s head, it was over.

            Diddle and Reel both stared with open-mouthed horror at the gruesome spectacle they’d just witnessed. The victor shreek was standing above the limp body of its challenger, its mouth open so that the other monsters could clearly see its red-stained teeth and tongue. When at last it was satisfied that its strength and power were undisputed, it gave one final shriek, this one of triumph rather than challenge.

            Diddle saw Reel shudder at the sound. The little centaur’s eyes were squeezed shut, though it did nothing to block out the sounds that his captors were making as they dragged their dead companion over to a corner of the fence. It was obvious that he was trying not to cry out in terror, and he succeeded…save for one small squeak.

            The leader of the shreeks, or the “Nest Wyrn,” as Nero’s Monsters book had described it, suddenly cocked its head to one side. The frills on the side of its head were flattened again, but they fluttered briefly in response to Reel’s small squeak. It slowly turned towards the little centaur, and despite the blind stare of its milky white eyes, Diddle could almost sense its gaze lingering hungrily on his friend.

            The creature clicked its teeth softly, then began to advance, its mouth partially open. Panicked, Reel’s eyes snapped open, and he made an attempt to climb to his feet. He couldn’t rest any weight on his injured leg, however, and he sank back to the ground with a small moan.

            Diddle knew how to be quiet, and like a shadow he began to creep forward. He had no need to worry about being seen by his enemies, but he was still thankful for the dark cover of the forest; If Reel made any sound to betray his presence, they were both doomed.

            The Wyrn was standing even with Reel. It sniffed him, its nostrils quivering and its frills twitching thoughtfully as it considered its prey. From his perch behind the far side of the fence, Diddle saw Reel’s spine stiffen and his jaw clench. It wasn’t out of fear, though.

            “If you’re going to eat me, then eat me already!” he shouted, raising one clenched fist.

            With a resounding ‘smack!’ that seemed to surprise both him and the shreek, he lashed forward in a vicious left hook that caught the huge creature in the sensitive flesh of its snout. The creature’s head snapped sideways, and it reared backward with a small snort of surprise.  It stood there for a moment, shocked rather than hurt, with its head frills stiff and a bemused expression on its face. Given enough time, it probably would have recovered and lunged at Reel without a moment’s hesitation. Diddle didn’t give it that time.

            He’d used Reel’s shouting as cover for his footsteps as he crept ever closer to the shreek that was threatening his friend. The fence, he’d discovered, was riddled with gaps and holes big enough for him to crawl through, and he found one that was almost perfectly even with the Wyrn’s head. He sat there for a moment, watching Reel and the shreek, all possible means of attack running through his head in quick succession. There weren’t many, and a good ninety-eight percent of them involved committing suicide and/or resulted in extreme bodily harm.

He knew that wouldn’t work, however, since Reel couldn’t escape on that leg without help. That left only one option. He really wished there were something else he could do, but it seemed as if he had only one choice.

Bunching his legs beneath him and placing his hands on the branches in front of him for balance, Diddle measured the distance between himself and the shreek’s head. If he missed, it would whirl on him and probably dismember him before he had a chance to get back on his feet. If he hit his target, he still might be dismembered anyway, only he’d have a few moments to reflect on how stupid a plan it had been before his guts were ripped out.

            Either way, it would be interesting to see the shreek’s reaction.

            Diddle didn’t hesitate once he made his decision. With a loud shout to draw attention to himself, he suddenly launched himself from the gap in the fence, hurling himself into the air with his arms outstretched and his legs spinning as if he were running through the air.

Time slowed for a moment, and Diddle was able to process everything around him as he flew through the air. He saw Reel—surprised, but hopeful—and the Nest Wyrn—also surprised, but in a more horrified way. Diddle had a moment to gloat and think that perhaps his plan wasn’t such a bad one before he finally landed and everything went spinning out of control.

            Diddle had been aiming to land on the back of the creature’s head. Unfortunately, the shreek turned in response to his shout, and he ended up landing right smack in the middle of its face, his arms wrapped tightly about its snout and his chin resting on the plate of bone between its two pale, widely spaced eyes. The shreek paused for a moment in shock, and then it went ballistic.

            Diddle was holding the creature’s mouth closed, but the creature was still able to reach a painful, if muffled pitch as it threw back its head and shrieked in anger. Diddle felt his teeth knock together painfully as the creature whipped its head in crazy circles, is useless forelegs waving frantically as it attempted to bend its head down and scrape him off with its claws.

Failing in this, the shreek flopped onto its side and slammed its head sideways against the ground. The terrible force with which it did so would have killed Diddle on impact, had he not slung himself to one side so that only the Wyrn’s skull connected with the ground. It made no second attempt.

            The shreek somehow managed to stumble drunkenly to its feet, its head and body swaying woozily back and forth beneath it and its forked tongue protruding from between its front jaws in an almost comic fashion.

 Diddle noticed in that brief lull that the other shreeks had been creeping in closer and closer during the fight. None of them looked as if they were coming to the Wyrn’s aid out of sheer good will. The frantic thrashing and flailing of their Nest Wyrn had prevented them from making any direct attacks, but the instant their leader stopped moving, they pounced.                

            There was no telling whether they were aiming at Diddle or the Wyrn. Maybe both. Either way, Diddle had absolutely no intentions of sticking around to find out.

Amid the terrified shrieks of the Wyrn and the steady throb of the shreeks’ huge clawed feet as they lunged forward, not one of them heard Diddle drop from the Wyrn’s snout and dodge away from the melee as the shreeks slammed into the Wyrn. He ignored the horrible screams and snarling behind him as the creatures fell on their unfortunate leader, and instead sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him to Reel’s side.

            The little centaur still lay on his side, but his human half was propped up on his arms and his face alert. As Diddle fell into a crouch at his side, the centaur seized him by one shoulder and said in a fierce whisper,

            “You actually came!”

            “Shh! Don’t let them hear you,” Diddle warned, glancing at Reel’s injured leg. He winced sympathetically. “Do you know what to do with an injury like this?” he asked.

            Reel shook his head. “Mom tried to teach me once, but I threw up.”

            Diddle laughed ruefully, but it sounded strained, even to himself. “Don’t worry, this doesn’t look too bad. I’ll do my best, and then we need to get out of here.”

            “I can’t walk,” Reel protested. Diddle glared at him.

            “You’re coming, and that’s that,” he growled. “I didn’t come all this way just to leave you behind for them when they get done with their friend there.” He gestured backwards at where the shreeks were still fighting. It looked as if they’d finished with the former Nest Wyrn, of which there was precious little to identify it by, and were now fighting it out amongst themselves for a replacement. “Besides…” Diddle continued. “Your mom will kill me if I don’t come back with you.”

            “Glad to know she missed me,” Reel said wryly. Diddle only grunted in response.

            Diddle knew little to nothing about first aid, but he did know that bleeding was bad. Some of the bite marks had scabbed over, but the bigger ones had yet to close up, and thick beads of bright red blood oozed from the cuts and pooled on the ground around Reel’s feet. Reel still looked pale, and Diddle hoped the centaur hadn’t lost too much blood.

            He quickly tore a few lengths of cloth from his pant leg and tied them around the worst cuts as tightly as he could. Reel winced as he did so, and Diddle realized that the bandages were too tight. He quickly loosened them, though not enough for them to slip off. When he was done, Reel’s foot looked as if someone had attempted to mummify it, and then abandoned the project halfway through and simply left it half-covered in bloody scraps of bandages. The bleeding had stopped, however, and Diddle was at least somewhat satisfied with his handiwork.

            “Come on,” he said, grabbing Reel’s arm. The centaur groaned softly as he tried to put weight on his foot, then slumped back to the ground.

            “I can’t do it,” he moaned. Then he caught the look in Diddle’s eye, and quickly amended his statement. “I’ll try, though.”

            “Just lean on my shoulder,” Diddle prompted. “We can do this.” He wrapped his arms around Reel’s skinny torso and tried to stand up. His eyes bugged at the centaur’s unexpected weight, and his kneecaps threated to pop off. Reel grabbed Diddle’s shoulders in return, and he struggled valiantly to lift the weight of his front half with his one good leg while his two hind legs scrambled to get underneath him and support his hind end.

            Finally, after several near-falls and only one incident of Reel stepping on Diddle’s foot, they were upright.

            “All right,” Diddle grunted from beneath Reel’s shoulder. “Let’s go before they see us.”

            “That’s easy enough,” Reel responded reflexively.

            “Har, har. Let’s go before they hear us,” Diddle amended irritably.

            It was slow, awkward, and tiring work, but they slowly made their way out of the shreek’s nest together. The shreeks themselves didn’t notice them go, as the monstrous creatures were too intent upon tearing one another to pieces to hear the uneven clopping of Reel’s hooves or the heavy, plodding thumping of Diddle’s tennis shoes.

            They might have gotten away, but it was then that it began to rain.

It was more of a drizzle, really. The building black clouds above the tops of the trees were still valiantly clinging to a heavy deluge, but even the incredible might of the weather could not withstand the impending storm that was brewing, not without Anajyrosima. The pattering drops of rain were little more than a shower, but they were enough to make Diddle and Reel extremely wet and cold. As the two of them walked, Diddle became aware of a tickle deep down in his lungs.

            “Oh, no, for the love of Anajyrosi—“ Then he sneezed.

Chapter 31—A Race Against Doom

            The sound was like a gunshot in a quiet room. At least, that’s what it sounded like to Diddle and Reel.

The two of them froze, terrified, as all sound faded from the forest. They couldn’t hear the shreeks fighting anymore, but they were at least fifty yards away by this point, and they could have simply been out of hearing range. They waited for a sound, their ears strained and their muscles cramped because they’d frozen in mid-stride. They waited for five minutes in this way, but still there was nothing save the steady patter of the rain on the leaves of the trees.

            Finally, when he’d been holding his breath for what seemed like ages and he felt as if his lungs would burst, Diddle exhaled.        

            That’s when they heard it.

            The shriek started low, then slowly rose in pitch and volume as more and more of the creatures joined in the call and their excitement grew. Diddle felt Reel’s fur bristle, and the hairs on the back of his own neck were standing on end as if charged with electricity. The hunting cry finally ended, but in the silence it left, Diddle could hear the thundering of running feet—many of them.

            “Run!” he shouted.

            Reel was able to manage an awkward half-canter with his injured leg, with Diddle serving as the fourth foot as the two of them struggled onward as fast as they could manage.

Centaurs healed fast, and Reel was no exception. His hurt limb didn’t seem to be troubling him quite as much as a few minutes before, but they were still moving far too slow. Diddle could hear the nest of shreeks growing closer and closer, and he was beginning to feel the thundering tremors of their feet through the ground.

            “Diddle, they’re gonna catch us!” Reel shouted in panic.

            “No they’re not!” Diddle protested furiously, pulling Reel along faster. “We’ll get ahead, hide, and then wait for them to go away.”

            “Diddle, they can smell us,” Reel said. “And now that they’re paying attention, they’ll hear us, too.”

            “Hear…” The idea Diddle had had before occurred to him again.

            “Diddle! Look ou—aaaah!” Reel’s warning came too late.

Neither of them had noticed the small dip in the road in front of them. As Diddle’s front foot and Reel’s front hoof tipped over the edge of it, they suddenly discovered that the dip was in fact a small gully, and the ledge they’d just stepped off led straight down into a small drop-off. The two of them suddenly found themselves tumbling downwards in a tangle of flailing arms and legs, unable to check their momentum as they were tossed and turned upside-down over and over again.

            By some miracle, Reel prevented himself from landing on his bad leg. Unfortunately, the two of them were stuck. There was no way Reel could get up in time to escape.

            “Diddle…”

            “If you say, ‘Go on without me,’ you lose your tail,” Diddle growled, untangling himself from Reel’s hooves. Reel smiled wanly, but his face was pale with terror.

            “Diddle, we can’t fight them,” he said.

            Diddle pulled out Eric’s little silver whistle. “Watch me,” he growled with unusual ferocity.

            Above them, the pounding of the shreeks’ feet grew steadily louder, until it was almost a roar.

            Then it stopped.

            A single small rock dislodged itself from the top of the ledge and tumbled down to a rest near Diddle’s sneaker. He put the whistle in his mouth and covered the top two holes. His heart beat frantically as he watched the pale snout of one of the shreeks poke from beyond the ledge, the sensitive nostrils quivering as they tested the air. It gave a loud snort, and then clicked its teeth a couple times in evident satisfaction. Several pale, narrow heads appeared over the ledge, though the biggest of them remained in front. Apparently, they’d already ‘elected’ their new Wyrn.

            First one at a time, then with gathering speed, the hollow, hair-like spines covering the Wyrn’s neck and tail stood on end. The sound grew to match the pattering of the rain as the entire Nest joined in, their ear frills cocked expectantly.

            “That’s right…” Diddle said aloud. Reel gave him a look that suggested he was nuts. Perhaps he was.

            “…You just listen to this.”

            Pursing his lips, Diddle played the highest note on the whistle as loudly as he possibly could.

            The sound itself was beautiful; it reminded Diddle of a red-winged blackbird, as the sound trilled a little despite his holding the note steady. The effect on the shreeks, however, was incredible… not to mention infinitely more beautiful in Diddle’s eyes.

            The Wyrn was the first to react. Diddle had thought that the spines on its head couldn’t rise any farther than they had during the fight, but now he discovered that those spines were capable of jutting straight into the air, as if they were trying to leave the creature’s heads altogether. The monster’s eyes bugged in panic, its mouth flew open in a gape of horror, and then it screamed, though not loudly enough to drown the melodious trill of the whistle.

            The shreek’s head snapped back spasmodically, its vestigial forearms waving wildly with the claws stuck straight out and the tendons along its neck protruding as it whipped its head in frantic circles, its massive, heavily muscled legs churning fitfully at the ground even as it flopped onto its side and began thrashing around in evident pain.

            The other shreeks weren’t quite as badly affected. Maybe it was because they weren’t as close to the sound as their leader, or perhaps it was some strange magic that made the Wyrn automatically more susceptible to the sound. Either way, they didn’t stand around long as the music tore at their sensitive eardrums and caused them to stampede in a mad scramble for safety.

 Unlike their leader, their ear frills were flattened to their skulls as they scrambled and tripped over one another in their panicked flight. One or two of them fell over entirely, and it was an almost comedic sight to watch as they attempted to scramble to their feet with only their massive hind legs for balance, their smaller forearms waving feebly as they basically pushed themselves forward like wheel-less wheelbarrows, their faces pressed into the dirt.

When they were all gone save the Wyrn, and Diddle’s breath finally ran out, he ended the note and removed the whistle from his lips. Reel stared at him in wonder, his eyes wide with astonishment and his mouth agape.

            “Where on earth did you get that?” he asked.

            “Eric gave it to me,” Diddle replied, looking fondly at the little silver whistle. “I guess he knows what he’s doing once in a while.”

            “Why didn’t you use it earlier?” the little centaur challenged.

            “Didn’t know it would work,” Diddle replied. He handed the whistle to Reel. “Keep it as a souvenir,” he said. Reel grinned and settled the hemp cord attached to the whistle around his neck, allowing the little silver pendant to settle below his throat.

            “Shreek-proof,” he said with a grin. Diddle snorted.

            “I doubt they’d attack again, even if you didn’t have it,” he said. “I’ll bet our smell is like a red warning flare by now.”

            “What about the Wyrn?” Reel asked. Diddle craned his neck upwards a little, but he couldn’t see beyond the ledge, and the Wyrn hadn’t made a sound since the stampede.

            “Let’s go see,” he said.

            Getting Reel out of the gully took a little effort, though the wound was definitely healing rapidly and the centaur was able to place a lot more of his weight on it than before. They managed to scramble over the ridge together, each leaning against the other for support, and together they found themselves staring at the quivering wreck that had once been the nest Wyrn of the shreeks.”

            “All right,” Diddle said with a sigh. “I feel a little bad for him.”

            “I notice you’ve given him a gender, now that he’s not pursuing us,” Reel commented, raising one eyebrow in Diddle’s direction.

            “I tend to think of malicious monsters intent on spilling my blood as, ‘it’,” Diddle replied. “I don’t think this one’s going to be chasing us any time soon.”

            It seemed as if the music of the little silver whistle had completely destroyed the Wyrn’s mind. No longer did it have the cold intelligence and determination of a wild dog intent on its prey. A bumblebee could have scared it.

 It laid where it had fallen, its mouth open and panting, and its back legs curled meekly up to its belly as it whimpered quietly like a beaten dog. Even after being captured, injured, then held hostage by the creatures, even Reel couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the creature. This had been the master of the forest. Now it was little more than a quivering rabbit.

            “Is there anything we can do?” the centaur asked. Diddle frowned, and then shook his head.

            “I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t think we should go near it, even if it is subdued. Animals are always more dangerous when they’re hurt,” he said.

            “As I proved,” Reel said with a grin. Diddle grinned back, and for a moment, he felt the heavy weight of responsibility and graveness that he’d felt ever since he’d set out after Reel fade away.

 He realized then that this was what the adventuring he’d been waiting for all his life was like. Adventure was, by definition, the encountering of hardships. It wasn’t half as fun as he’d envisioned, yet there still remained a certain appeal to the prospect. Perhaps if it was only his life on the line, and the expectations of so many others weren’t focused on him, he wouldn’t be adverse to it at all… but then again, maybe it was the expectations of others that made it an adventure.

            He mentally shrugged. He would work it out another time. In the meantime, he still had some work to do.

            “Come on,” he said to Reel, turning towards Avon’s property. “I promised your mom I’d get you back, and if I don’t, I’m going to the deepest pit of hell and she’ll come along to punish me.”

            “Sounds harsh,” Reel said, limping along with Diddle.

            “Not really, considering it’s her who said it,” Diddle said. “No offense.”

            “Offense? I agree with you,” Reel said. Diddle grinned.

Chapter 32—Unveiling Disguises

            Diddle did his best to help Reel along. What with the young centaur’s hurt leg, he was forced to walk with a pronounced limp, so Diddle offered his shoulder for his friend to lean on as they plodded onward beneath the canopy of the forest, the ground soft and slightly muddy beneath their feet from the rain overhead. Diddle found himself surprised once more at the little centaur’s weight; despite his small size, Reel was still a heavy creature. His spindly legs were long, with strong hindquarters to make up for his lack of upper arm strength.

 It occurred to Diddle that, perhaps Reel had been training the wrong way all this time. He wanted to become a sword fighter like Roemer, but that involved upper arm strength he didn’t possess. Diddle remembered the little centaur’s proficiency with a sling, and he began to wonder even more where Reel’s true talent might lie.

            “You know,” Diddle said as the two of them stumbled along. “You’d probably be a good sprinter, or even a distance runner.”

            Reel’s head turned in surprise, his innocent, boyish features puzzled. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

            “I mean, I don’t think you should be trying to copy your mother,” Diddle said. “You’re not the same as her. You have different talents.”

            “But I’ve always wanted to become a swordsman!” Reel protested, frowning. “I wanted to carry on the legacy.”

            Diddle thought for a moment, watching his feet as he did so. He glanced over at Reel’s hooves, and then compared them to his own shoes.

Two different species, and they were allies—friends, even. He hadn’t realized it, but by befriending the centaurs, he was carrying on his own father’s work in a way.

            “I think…I understand,” he said haltingly. He glanced up at Reel. “I want to continue what my father did before me, but…” He grinned. “…I’m too unique to do it his way.”

            Reel cocked his head, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “So, you want to twist fate?” he asked.

            “It’s not fate,” Diddle replied. “We’re masters of our own path. I don’t want to fight in a war like my dad did, but I do want to bring the centaurs and the humans closer together like he did.”

            Reel smiled. “I think I understand,” he said. “Our past is part of us, but we shouldn’t allow it to control what we become.”

            “We’re masters of our own fate,” Diddle agreed.

            “Not in this instant, you aren’t.”

            Reel screamed as a foot suddenly lashed out from behind a tree and kicked him in his injured leg. It was a horrible sound, like the cry of a man in pain mixed with the panicked squeal of a horse, and it caused Diddle to stumble away with his hands clapped over his ears. He saw a tall, black figure leap at his friend from behind the tree, and he rushed forward so he could protect Reel.

            “Diddle! No!”

            Diddle halted instinctively at the sound of a familiar voice. He felt a surge of relief as he slowed and turned to face the speaker, even as some nagging part of his brain protested that something was wrong. His relief turned to shock and horror as Betty’s hands swiped across his cheek, bringing him to his knees as white-hot pain blossomed where her long, clawed fingers had gouged deep scratches in his skin.

            “Stupid boy!” the cook snarled, lunging towards Diddle with her mottled gray and white hands outstretched.

Her skin glistened in the wan light of the forest, and it wasn’t because of the rain shed by the steadily building storm, either. Her once plump, red, cheerful face had become almost bloated, and her skin was now a mottled, pasty gray that twisted about her unnaturally pale, thin lips in a menacing sneer. Her eyes were small, cold, and black, and when she opened her mouth to hiss at Diddle she revealed tiny, fishlike teeth that had been filed into razor-like nibs. Her luxurious brown hair had turned stringy and sparse, and the salty reek of soy sauce permeated the air around her as if she was a dead fish. Diddle found himself reminded of an eel.

            Diddle dodged as Betty leaped at him, causing her to give an enraged snarl as she stumbled past him. Clambering back to his feet, Diddle noted that she didn’t follow suit. Instead, she lay where she’d fallen, her dirty apron torn where a thorn had caught it, and her face reflecting that same, bone weary expression that had plagued Nero for the better part of a month.

            She’d been eating the genie poison.

            “Diddle!” Reel’s panicked scream prompted Diddle to whirl and face his other adversary.

It was the second lesser demon that Avon had bound to his will. Reel was half pinned beneath the man’s considerable bulk; the little centaur’s legs trapped beneath his own body at an awkward angle while his attacker sat on his back and struggled to bind his hands together behind his back. Diddle wasn’t at all surprised at who the demon was.

            Aver.

            Like Betty, the butler no longer looked like a normal human being. His demonic side was beginning to poke through his thin shroud of disguising magic, and it was almost more terrifying than Betty’s eelish resemblance.

            He too seemed to resemble a sort of fish; his skin had turned a metallic, steely gray, with ridges along his more pronounced cheekbones and forehead that might have been edged scales. His hands were clawed like Betty’s, and his black hair had silvered so that it matched his skin, making him look bald. His eyes were sunk deep in his skull, and they glowed yellow in the manner of a feral animal. His mouth and jaws were more pronounced, and instead of tiny needle teeth, he possessed gigantic spears of ragged enamel that jutted from his mouth in uneven rows. Those teeth opened in a warning snarl as Reel tried to wrench away, threatening to tear out the centaur’s throat with one mighty lunge of those ferocious jaws.

            He was a barracuda.

            Diddle didn’t think. He simply grabbed the nearest weapon he could find—a length of torn cloth from Betty’s apron—and leaped at the transformed butler. Aver’s grotesque, mutilated head swung to face him in surprise, but he was too slow to react. With almost animal determination, Diddle latched himself onto the demon’s back and wrapped the length of cloth around Aver’s neck, pulling back with all his strength.

            The demon writhed beneath Diddle’s grip and tried to snarl, but the pressure on his throat was pinching off his windpipe, and he was unable to make a sound. In an attempt to shake his attacker, he reared backwards and rolled on top of Diddle, crushing the air from Diddle’s lungs in a pained gasp. Diddle kept his grip, though, and he managed to force enough air through his constricted lungs to shout at Reel, who was now free.

            “Go! Get help! Don’t worry about me!”

            Reel managed to awkwardly scramble to his feet, his face contorting with pain as he put pressure on his injured leg. He began to shuffle towards Diddle and Aver, his hands drawn up into fists.

            “No!” Diddle howled frantically. “Get help!”   

            There was nothing Reel could do. Aver was too strong for even the two of them combined, and Reel could only seal their fate if he allowed himself to be captured. He hesitated a moment longer.

            “GO!”

With a look of anguish, Reel turned and raced back into the woods as fast as his injury would allow. Diddle watched him go with relief; at least now he was safe.

            In the meantime, however, Diddle found that he was getting weaker, while all the while Aver was getting more and more desperate as he was starved of air. The demon writhed frantically beneath the embrace of the cloth noose, and his arms flailed in a desperate attempt to catch Diddle off guard. Diddle was prepared to lie there all night until the demon strangled.

He wasn’t prepared, however, when Aver suddenly rolled onto his stomach, whipping Diddle about so that he hung to the butler’s left with his hands still clasped about the demon’s neck. The cloth was no longer pinching Aver’s windpipe, and the demon knocked Diddle away with a well-aimed elbow jab to the ribs that caused Diddle to double up in pain.

            Aver rolled to his feet, his breath coming in strangled coughs as he fought for air, and his long legs trembling. Diddle had managed to shake the huge demon, but Aver was far from defeated, and he didn’t take kindly to being humiliated by skinny twelve-year-old boys.

Still sore, Diddle tried to climb to his feet, only to be driven back into the dirt as Aver planted one foot in the middle of his back. He coughed weakly, trying to refocus his vision even as he became dimly aware of the fact that Aver was using a length of stiff cord to bind his hands behind his back. He yelped as the edged wire bit into his wrists, and was then silenced by a swift clout to the head that made him see stars.

            “Quiet, human,” hissed the butler’s voice, low and malicious. “It’s time you fulfilled the rest of your contract. You’d do best to do so peacefully if you want to see the sun rise again.”

            Diddle moaned softly as he was hauled to his feet, tottering unsteadily because of his lack of balance without his hands. Aver pushed him forward, past where Betty was beginning to clamber back to her feet, her eyes still glazed with the poison.

            As he was forced to march before the two demons, Diddle’s fuzzy thoughts could only focus on two things: what did all this have to do with the farm and Avon’s conspiracy with the lesser demons, and what was the contract Diddle had to fulfill?

            As they wound their way through the forest, the clouds broke open, and the light, miserable drizzle turned into a heavy, frigid downpour.

Chapter 33—Runes and Incantations

            Diddle stumbled on a tree root as he walked, falling forward against the rope that bound his wrists to Aver. The rope bit painfully into the sensitive flesh on his wrists as Aver tugged him back upright, and then he received a hearty clout across the back of his head for his trouble. He gritted his teeth against the stinging blow, determined to not admit how miserable he was.

            Since his confrontation with the butler, Diddle had found that the energy supplies sparked by surging adrenaline and fear for both Reel’s life and his own had left him. The pouring, frigid rain that leaked from the canopy of the forest trees onto Diddle’s shoulders had thoroughly chilled him through his flimsy t-shirt, and his teeth chattered softly as he plodded along down the path. His head drooped out of sheer exhaustion, and his feet dragged, prompting Aver to growl at him from time to time and jerk at the rope.

            Diddle was comforted only by the fact that he wasn’t the only miserable one in their little group. Aver, as always, seemed impervious to everything but the task before him. He walked steadily, his gleaming silver face riveted on Diddle’s back in case Diddle tried to do something stupid. Betty, on the other hand, was still suffering from the genie poison. Her feet dragged even more than Diddle’s, and once or twice he risked a glance backwards and saw that her eyes tended to droop closed from time to time. She almost tipped over altogether several times, but each time she jolted awake with a surprised snort and resumed plodding after Aver like a sleepwalker. Diddle couldn’t help but feel immensely satisfied at the sight, content that at least Nero’s last few months of imprisonment had been avenged.

Looking back in hindsight, Diddle wondered how he could have fallen for Betty’s act in the first place. She had been nice enough, but that alone couldn’t have convinced Diddle to trust her, especially considering Diddle’s friendship with bad-tempered creatures like Roemer and Charryl. If anything, Betty’s too-good-to-be-true attitude should have tipped him off from the beginning.

 No, there had been something else—something that had prompted Diddle to accept Betty’s kind, motherly personality just a little too easily. He began to wonder if there had been more to Avon’s binding spell than simply getting him to the farm. That alone was a scary thought. Even more worrisome was the next question that line of thought posed: what if the spell wasn’t done yet?

            Whether it was or not, Diddle knew he was about to find out; he, Betty and Aver were following the path Diddle had taken to find the shreek’s nest, and the only place that they could be headed was where it had all started in the first place. Diddle knew that this was where it was all going to come to a head, one way or another.

            Above the treetops, the storm clouds were gathering and piling ever higher atop one another, as if being pulled into one spot by some mighty force. Sheets of frigid rain continued to beat down on the trees, and a cold, wet, easterly wind was beginning to build. Trees groaned and rattled their leaves beneath the force of the building gale, their branches swaying violently to the point where they looked like they were about to crack.

            Diddle found himself stumbling more and more often, and the threats and blows that Aver dealt him increased respectively. By now, the back of Diddle’s head and the muscles across his shoulders were one big mess of bruises, and he didn’t’ know how long he could go on marching before he simply fell over out of sheer exhaustion.

            Fortunately, just as Diddle was considering for the tenth time how nice it would be to simply pass out in the middle of the path and take a quick nap, they broke clear of the forest. They passed through the invisible barrier, the gap that the shreeks had torn in it now seamlessly repaired. Aver, Betty and Diddle passed through it easily, as the wall was built to admit them, but as he crossed the barrier, Diddle noticed something odd about it. It wasn’t anything definite, simply a nagging feeling that something was not right.

            Then again, if all were right, the wall wouldn’t have been there in the first place.

            An instant later, Diddle passed through over the farm’s boundary and his attention was diverted as he struggled to take in all that was happening.

            Once inside the dome that the wall formed all around the farm, it seemed to Diddle as if he and the two demons had suddenly been cut off from the rest of the world. The domed wall had gone transparent, so he could see the clouds outside clustered up against the invisible wall in dark, looming heaps, and rain as it visibly sheared away from the property as if directed by the wind. Outside, the trees were beginning to sway back and forth more noticeably as the wind grew ever stronger, their leaves rattling and whipping about in the wind. Inside, the noise should have been fantastic…

            … But it was all dead silent.

            It wasn’t the stillness of summer that Diddle had known throughout his stay at the farm; there had been a breeze and the occasional sound of birdsong to break up the quiet. Now, it was as if they were within a still room. There was no wind to stir the grass, and no animals or birds to intrude on the silence, as they had all no doubt fled before the horrible force of the storm and the unnatural silence of the farm. Nothing stirred, saved for one thing that shouldn’t have been able to.

            The oak tree.

            The old, twisted hardwood tree near the end of the centaur pasture was moving in such a way that Diddle knew that, even had there been a breeze, it couldn’t be because of the wind. Its ancient boughs were twisting and turning about in the air as if alive, the leaves curling and shivering in a manner that was both unnatural and unsettling. Something within that tree had been awakened, something that would have been better off left undisturbed. There was no doubt as to who had caused that disturbance.

            A familiar tall, raven-haired figure was standing next to the tree, his left hand outstretched towards the tree while he held a worn leather book in his right. His face was tilted towards the book as if he were reading from it, and over the heavy silence that had settled upon the farm, Diddle could hear Avon’s voice rising and falling in a guttural chant in a foreign tongue.

            “It’s time you served your purpose,” Aver growled, flashing his unnatural barracuda teeth in what might have been some loose interpretation of a smile. The lesser demon gave Diddle a shove between the shoulder blades with one hand, forcing the smaller boy to stumble towards where his uncle was waiting for them.

            Avon was just finishing his chanting when Betty, Aver and Diddle drew even with him. The man’s brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips pursed as he read aloud the strange, twisting runes printed in the book before him. The sounds that emanated from his throat were deep and as unnatural as the movements of the trees, which were increasing in speed as his voice became more urgent and the words he said more violent. Diddle caught only one word amidst the twisted, archaic noises that Avon was making, and it was a word that sent a chilled shiver down his spine: Demon.

            Finally, Avon stopped. His voice seemed to peter off as if drifting from his lungs, and the tree gradually stopped moving as he slowly looked up from the book and shook his head, as if he’d been mesmerized. He seemed to suddenly realize that he wasn’t alone, and he looked up at Aver, Betty and Diddle with a small start of surprise.

            “You’re back!” he exclaimed, snapping the book shut and slinging it under one arm. He glanced momentarily at Diddle, his gaze cold and unfriendly. He frowned, obviously dismayed by something. “You only got him?”

            “The centaur got away,” Aver growled, baring his teeth in a soft, frustrated hiss. “He went towards the nest, though. He won’t be a problem to us, and may even stumble back into the shreeks and save us the trouble of hunting him down later.”

            Avon snorted. “Not that we’ll need to. With the demon awakened, a little renegade centaur like that one will mean nothing to me. I’ll have absolute control over the country once I harness its power.”

            Diddle saw something flash across Aver’s eyes. It was the only emotion other than anger that he’d ever seen in the butler’s eyes, and it was near impossible to define what it was. Needless to say, it was somehow related to what Avon had just said. Betty’s eyes were still too dulled by the poison to read anything other than fatigue, so Diddle was unable to glean any reaction from her. Avon seemed to notice then the female lesser demon’s somewhat wavery countenance.

            “What’s wrong with her?” he demanded, his frown deepening.

            “I don’t know,” Aver growled. “She can’t seem to focus on anything. She was near useless when we attempted to capture the centaur. It’s her fault that he got away.”

            Avon grunted. “So long as she can still read. Are we ready?”

            Aver nodded. “Are the centaurs still secure?”

            “Yes,” Avon replied. “The female’s finally stopped beating herself silly against the walls. I think Nero and that dog are even trapped in there as well. How the blazes he got downstairs, though, I can’t imagine.”

            Diddle groaned softly. Nero, Jyro, Roemer and the others were all trapped. Now he was stuck with his uncle and two lesser demons, and it sounded to him as if they were about to summon a demon. He needed to get out of there somehow, but his wrists were still securely bound, and in his state of exhaustion, he probably wouldn’t get far before Aver ran him down. Avon noticed him glancing around for an escape route, and the tall man gave a cold laugh of amusement.

            “No, there will be no running away for you, my nephew,” he said pleasantly. “I have plans for you, as I told you earlier. Do you see this?” He brandished the leather book, which was about as thick as Diddle’s fist and gilded with twisting gold runes on the cover. Diddle eyed it warily, his mouth pressed closed in a stubborn line as he watched his uncle through glaring eyes. Avon laughed again.

 “It is one of the ancient ritual books of the lesser demon tribes, thought to be lost after the defeat of the demons during the First Wars, only to be recovered by the scholars from the Royal Academy,” Avon said with a flourish, opening to a random page. The same twisting runes from the cover were printed there in reddish-brown ink, now cracked with age and somewhat faded around the edges. With a sickening jolt, Diddle realized that the ink was in fact blood.

            Avon grinned at Diddle’s expression. “You noticed that, did you?” he said. “Needless to say, the lesser demons were somewhat barbaric people, tending towards the somewhat crass practices of human sacrifices in the name of the true demons to which they appealed during their rituals. The one we have in mind does not involve such practices, but we do need a fourth person to complete it. That’s where you come in.”

            Diddle glared at the book, furious with himself for being caught, not only by Aver, but by Avon from the very beginning.

            The centaur ranch had been a ruse all along. Avon hadn’t really needed a farm hand, simply some dupe to nab and force into completing the summoning. Diddle had been that dupe, snared from the instant he opened that envelope. There were still a few unanswered questions, however.

            “What about Nero, Jyro and the centaurs?” Diddle asked. “Where do they fit in?”

            “You’re Nero’s replacement,” Avon said with a little heat. “He was supposed to be the fourth reader, but when he found out what I intended, he backed out. A simple binding of silence in our contract kept him from telling you everything, of course, but it seemed as if you weren’t totally free of his prejudice. The weather goddess I kept simply to ensure that the other gods did not try to interfere. With her as my hostage, they cannot mess with my plans. The centaurs served two purposes: one was to create some excuse for you to work for me. The other was to generate the wall that will contain the demon once it’s summoned.” Avon turned to Aver with a frown. “It’s secure, correct?” he asked, a touch of anxiety in his voice. Aver nodded wordlessly.

            “I assure you, the demon will have no chance of escape,” the lesser demon replied, somewhat stiffly, it seemed to Diddle. Then again, the former butler was always stiff.

            Avon nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Then let’s begin.”

            Diddle was dragged to one side of the tree and forced onto his knees, Aver standing over him with his hand on his collar. Diddle squirmed a little, trying to loosen the wire cords that bound his wrists, but Aver gave him a vicious cuff across the head and growled at him threateningly.

            Meanwhile, Betty had taken the book from Avon, though she had to strain a little to heave the heavy volume into her arms. Avon studied her carefully for a moment. Then, deciding her condition wouldn’t affect the ceremony, he moved away to stand beside Aver and Diddle. Betty flipped through the book, her eyes closed, until her fingers lit upon the right page. She opened her eyes so she could read the blood-printed runes, and then, like Avon, she began to chant.

            The words sounded even more horrible when she said them. Her voice was more guttural than Avon’s, and the words seemed to tear themselves from her throat as she swayed in time to her own chanting. Diddle couldn’t understand the words, but he sensed a deep and bitter anger in Betty’s tone that seemed to stretch way back in time to when the book itself was first written.

            The tree responded to the chant as it had with Avon’s. It began to twist and turn, more vigorously than before, the bark creaking and groaning as it swayed about in the air. Diddle noticed something else as he watched; a faint luminescence that seemed to be emanating from somewhere deep in the tree’s heartwood, radiating outward through cracks in its bark so it looked as if it were burning from within. When Betty finished her part, the tree stopped moving, but the deep, ruby glow remained, pulsing as if in time to the beat of some gargantuan heart.

            Now it was Aver’s turn. The lesser demon shoved Diddle’s collar into Avon’s hand and took Betty’s place, hoisting the book into his arms and scanning it with his eyes briefly. After a moment, he seemed to have it memorized, and he closed his eyes as he began chanting, his deep, bass voice rising and falling in time to the throbbing glow of the tree. He was, if anything, even angrier than Betty had been, and his voice broke into something like a snarl once or twice as his emotions got the best of him and his glowing yellow eyes snapped open to glare at the trembling tree before him. When he was finished, the bark of the tree was still glowing, and the limbs continued to move even after he resumed his place behind Diddle with his hand on the length of cord.

            Avon took the book from Aver and flipped through it until he found the part he was looking for. He smiled softly as he knelt down near Diddle, presenting the open page. Diddle stared at the words for a moment, then snapped his gaze away when he realized that he could understand the runes and felt his mouth moving to say the horrible, muttering words. Avon laughed.

            “You will read them,” he said, leaning closer to his nephew. “You have no choice in the matter. You will raise this demon for me, and then you will be justly rewarded for your efforts, despite your earlier attempts at revolt.”

            Diddle didn’t say anything, afraid to trust his voice not to start chanting. Instead, he spit at Avon. It was a good shot, and hit his uncle squarely between the eyes. Avon reared back, dropping the book in surprise. Diddle couldn’t help but grin. Avon glared at him for a moment, and then kicked the book closer. Aver growled warningly, but Avon ignored him.

            “Read,” Avon commanded. Diddle felt his head jerk forward against his will, and he suddenly found himself staring at the rows of bloody runes and his lips already moving to form the words. He struggled for a moment, trying to scream out obscenities, names of the ancient kings, or even math equations to prevent himself from saying what the spell was telling him to, but his voice dropped to a low chant against his will, and he began to say the final words to the summoning spell.

            The tree’s movements became frenzied, almost violent, as if physically hurt by Diddle’s words as it twisted and writhed in increasingly spasmodic circles. Diddle felt horrible as he watched it, unable to check his own voice as he rambled on in the language of the demons. He caught a couple more repetitions of the word, “demon”, and he knew he was nearing the end when the light emanating from the tree suddenly increased tenfold and it gave a shuddering groan as if it were being torn apart from the inside.

            With a resounding ‘crack!’ the tree split open from the roots up to the place where the trunk divided. Something huge and red reached up from within the depths of the tree and seized hold of the edge of the rent, tearing at the bark with claws like those of a troll. The poor tree split even further as the creature within it clawed its way out, its heavy, horned head poking above the hand; the long, hunched body following after. The remainder of the tree was eventually shredded away entirely, until all that was left was a pile of softly glowing chips of wood, which slowly lost their luster and became ordinary wood chips.

            …There was also the demon.

Chapter 34—A Slight Complication

            Something was wrong.

Diddle could see it on Avon’s face the instant the demon looked up at his uncle and gave a long, low, rumbling roar that seemed to shake the very earth. Something about the demon’s behavior was not what Avon had been expecting. Oddly enough, Aver and Betty remained unperturbed, almost smug, as if things had gone exactly how they’d planned them. Avon noticed their look, and seemed to shrink inside himself a little when he realized that he’d been betrayed somehow.

Nevertheless, he attempted to assert control over the situation, striding towards the demon and raising his voice in a blustering command.

            “Demon!” he shouted. “I am Avon, he who has summoned you!” Diddle rolled his eyes; if anyone had done any summoning, it was him.

“Bow to me, Great One, and with your power, I will conquer the country!” Avon continued. His eyes looked slightly fearful, but he visibly gained confidence as his words evoked no negative response. The demon simply regarded him curiously.

            It was a huge creature; six feet tall from foot to horn tip and nine feet long from that same horn tip to its hindquarters. Its face was vaguely humanoid, with a heavy, sloping brow and hooked nose. Its eyes glowed red like coals, and a pair of curving tusks jutted from the lower lip of its wide, black mouth. Diddle guessed that it had a skull like that of a big-horned sheep, as it sported a huge rack of curling ram’s horns that grew from the plate of bone in its forehead and curled around the back of its head. Its neck was huge, thick, and sinewy, and its body stout and well-muscled. Both its feet and hands had five claw-tipped digits, one of which served as a thumb to either balance it or help it grasp prey. The entire creature was a sort of rusty brownish-red color, with a blackish ruff off spiky fur along its neck and yellow nails. As it paced towards Diddle, Avon, Betty and Aver, Diddle thought that it looked a little like a bull, what with its heavy shoulders and narrow hindquarters. The thought didn’t reassure him.

            “Bow to me, demon!” Avon commanded. “I am your master! This wall that surrounds us binds you to my will!”

            The demon didn’t bow. Instead, it eyed Avon with the look of a cat sizing up a skinny mouse as it decided whether it was worth eating. By this point, Avon had thoroughly convinced himself that everything was going according to plan, and he didn’t flinch. Finally, the demon came to a decision.

            It gave a low, rumbling roar of annoyance and swiped at Avon with one huge, clawed fist. Avon gave a yelp of surprise, then a loud grunt as the demon’s fist smashed into his stomach and drove the wind from his lungs. He tumbled backwards into the remains of the tree, his arms flailing as he slid through the old woodchips. He gave only one attempt to get back up, and then he sank back to the ground with a pitiful moan, his hands clutching feebly at his gut. Diddle and Aver both rolled their eyes.

            “Finally,” the lesser demon growled, the corners of his mouth curling into a very unfriendly smile. “It won’t be long now before his hold over us is gone completely, and we can rule alongside the Great One as his right-hand servants!”

            Keeping his head down so as not to attract attention, Diddle began wriggling his wrists about within the confines of the wire bindings. The wires bit painfully into his skin, but he could feel his hands slowly worming their way free. He kept a careful eye on the two lesser demons.

            “Yes…” Betty murmured uncertainly, her eyes still unfocused. “Rule…good…mn…soy sauce…”

            “What is wrong with you?” Aver hissed, releasing Diddle so he could grab Betty by the shoulders and glare into her face. Betty tried to glare back at him, but she couldn’t focus her left eye.

            “So tired,” she mumbled blearily. Aver turned away in disgust as Betty swayed and then finally fell over at his feet, snoring peacefully.

            “Stupid female,” he growled. “No, you don’t.”

            Diddle yelped as Aver kicked his feet out from underneath him, forcing him back to his knees. He’d been trying to stumble to his feet without using his hands, but Aver had noticed his feeble attempts at escape and quickly put an end to them.

            “I have plans for you,” the lesser demon purred quietly, his eyes golden and dangerous as he eyed Diddle. Diddle shuddered, but kept a brave face and stared back defiantly. Aver only laughed, then straightened to face the huge, red demon.

            “My lord!” he shouted, hoisting Diddle to his feet by the collar and causing the boy to gag and stumble forwards. The demon eyed the two of them, its face unreadable.

            “I have done as you asked and weakened the wall,” Aver continued, spreading his free hand. “I have done my duty as your servant, and I now present you with your freedom.”

            The demon regarded Aver with the cold, intelligent eye of a monster. A low, guttural growl of thanks rumbled through its chest, the sound enough to make Diddle’s bones shudder.

            “…And now,” Aver continued, hoisting Diddle up by the front of his shirt with one hand. “…I present to you this sacrifice in the name of the great race of demons!”

            “Sacrifice?!” Diddle shouted, squirming in panic. Aver smacked him across the cheek, but Diddle growled and simply struggled more. “I’m not letting you turn me into demon food!” he protested indignantly.

            “Quiet, human,” Aver snarled, giving Diddle a shake that made his teeth knock together. “Be silent in the presence of the Great One!”

            “Great One my butt!” Diddle growled back, tugging at the wires around his wrists. He’d managed to loosen them somewhat, and he could almost slip his left hand all the way through. He just needed time…

            “Do not insult the lord demon!” Aver snapped, his yellow eyes flashing and the silvery scales on his face bristling. “We are far more than you humans ever were or will ever be!”

            “Oh, yeah? Then how come you guys were banished to a plane of ultimate darkness?” Diddle shot back. He was almost free…

            “A mere fluke!” Aver retorted angrily. “You did not follow the traditions of battle, and tricked the great demons! Our power should have crushed you!”

            “But it didn’t, did it?” Diddle said, wiggling his hands free of the ropes at last. “Perhaps we’re not as dumb as you stinking monster seem to think!”

            “Insolent human!” Aver growled. “I’ll—“

            Diddle didn’t let him finish his sentence. Lashing out with his feet, he caught Aver squarely in the chest in a vicious, double-footed kick. Surprised, the lesser demon stumbled, giving Diddle time enough to squirm free of his grip and drop to the ground.         

            With a snarl, Aver rounded on Diddle again, and then shrieked as the smaller boy suddenly leaped at his legs and body-slammed him in the knees. Despite his small size, Diddle was built like a coiled spring, and he knew from his mother’s anatomy posters where a person’s weak points were. He was able to sweep Aver off his feet as the tackle wrenched at the lesser demon’s kneecaps and caused his legs to fold.

            “Wretched human!” Aver roared, clawing at Diddle once the breath had returned to his lungs. He managed to snag Diddle’s left ankle with one clawed hand, and began pulling the boy in hand over hand by the leg.

            “Let go!” Diddle growled savagely, grabbing the claws with one hand and trying to force them open. Aver laughed and swatted Diddle’s hand away, the pupils of his eyes shrunk to tiny slits.

            That gave Diddle an idea.

            “Think fast, Aver!” he shouted, lurching forward.

            Aver looked up, momentarily confused.

            “Wha?—aaaaiiiieee!” he screeched, jerking backwards as Diddle’s middle and index fingers jabbed him in the eyes. Both of his clawed hands flew to his smarting eyes as he wailed in agony, tears streaming down his cheeks. Diddle was finally able to jump free.

            With Aver down, Diddle suddenly realized that the demon had been leaving him alone so far. Suspicious, he turned to where he last remembered seeing the great beast, and was surprised to find that it wasn’t paying any attention to the raging battle between him and the lesser demon. It almost seemed as if it were trying to dig a hole in the middle of the field.

            “What…?” Diddle said with a  frown, watching as the monster frantically scrabbled at the ground, its massive, heavily-muscled forearms shoveling away clumps of dirt.

            No, not dirt—something else.

            It was silvery in color, and it came away in wispy tatters that dissolved in midair as the demon flung them away. It almost looked as if the demon were digging up sheets of plastic or transparent silk…

            The wall.

            It was tearing up the magic barrier by the roots, destroying the wall at the foundations so that there was nothing to hold it in. It was trying to escape, and since Aver had weakened the wall, it could do just that.

            “No!” Diddle shouted, running at the huge monster.

            The demon looked up at Diddle, momentarily pausing in its digging. Its burning red eyes regarded the puny mortal creature charging it with a look of contempt, its lips curling back in a hideous, tusked smile.

            As Diddle came within arm’s reach, the demon gave a casual sweep of its claw, meaning to send Diddle sprawling with one blow.

            Diddle saw it coming and ducked, his feet still pounding at the ground. The demon looked surprised, and made another, lower swipe. This one Diddle avoided by dropping down into a somersault, rolling underneath the meaty arm above him and jumping back to his feet so he could keep running. Before the demon could register surprise or make a third attempt, Diddle gave a loud war cry and jumped, aiming for the center of the demon’s face.

            The demon looked just as surprised as the Wyrn shreek had, and Diddle’s tactic may have worked save for one detail: the demon’s horns.

            Out of pure reflex, the monster turned its head sideways as Diddle leaped towards it, presenting a long, sharp prong that was about to spear Diddle through the gut. Panicked, Diddle managed to twist in midair so that his stomach was no longer the target, but he was unable to save himself completely.

            His skin seemed to burn where the demon’s horn raked across his side, and he found himself flailing in panic as he tumbled uncontrollably through the air and collided with the top of the demon’s skull. The air was smashed from his lungs, and he was unable to hang on as he had with the shreek as the demon snapped its head around and flung its cling-on into the dirt.

            Diddle hit the ground hard, and lay there, his sides burning and his back bruised from his hard landing. Dimly, he was able to see the demon as it slowly advanced on him, its lip curled in annoyance so Diddle could clearly see all six inches of its huge, curved tusks.

            Strangely enough, Diddle wasn’t afraid of dying.

            It wasn’t too bad a death, at least as far as deaths went. He did regret never travelling like he’d always wanted to, or never getting to see his mom again. He also regretted that the world would probably end once he was gone, since the demon would most likely break through the magic wall and ravage the face of the earth with its darkness. He wished he could have at least gotten old enough to drink beer before that happened.

            “Oh, well,” Diddle murmured sadly. “I tried.”

            The demon snarled at him in response, and it raised its front paw, ready to crush Diddle beneath its weight and/or spear him with those huge, curling yellow claws.

Diddle sighed fatalistically and closed his eyes.

“Hey! Demon!”

Diddle frowned, his eyes still closed. That voice sounded familiar. Curious as ever, he cracked his eyes open again and turned his head sideways so he could face the source of the noise. He was met with a rather strange sight.

Eric.

The old, white-haired centaur was charging towards the demon with the wooden pitchfork clutched in his hands like a broadsword, his white tail streaming out behind him and his flashing hooves tearing at the hard-packed dirt as he ran. His face was set in a savage, warlike scowl, and his powerful arms expertly twirled the pitchfork above his head in dizzying circles as he thundered towards the demon.

            “No one…touches…YOUNG PAUL!!” he roared, launching himself over the demon’s attempt to block his charge with its arms, and bringing the pitchfork smashing down on the monster’s back with all his might.

            The force of the blow sent the demon reeling, its face twisted in shock and its legs unsteady. Unfortunately for Eric, the blow was too much for the old pitchfork, and it shattered into a dozen pieces over the demon’s back, leaving him without a weapon.

            Unfazed, the old centaur charged again, his fists swinging as he roared a long series of creative insults that could have impressed even the giben birds:

            “I’ve met granny trolls with more grit than you, you overgrown lump of lard! Why, I’ll bet that thing you call a face is so ugly because you’re too stupid to look out for trees when you walk! C’mon, pansy! I thought that was all muscle, not dough!”

            The demon made frantic attempts to beat Eric away, but the old centaur simply knocked the attempts aside and continued to batter at the demon’s head and shoulders with his fists. He probably could have succeeded in beating the demon into the ground with his bare hands, if it hadn't been for Aver.

            Amidst the fighting, Diddle had forgotten about the lesser demon. He saw the flash of silver scales out of the corner of his eye a moment too late as Aver leaped towards Eric’s back, his jagged teeth bared in a vengeful snarl.

            “Eric! Look out!” Diddle shouted.

            Eric turned, surprised, and was able to grab Aver by the wrists before the lesser demon reached his neck. Unfortunately, in doing so, he exposed his back to the demon, and gave it enough time to gather its strength.

            “Eric!” Diddle cried uselessly, still unable to rise.

            The demon swung its arm just as Eric began to turn. The blow caught the old centaur full in the chest, and he released Aver as his body went flying back into the remains of the tree. Diddle saw the centaur’s head hit a rock as he landed, and Eric had time enough to grunt in pain before his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body went limp.

            “Eric!”

            Diddle struggled to get to his feet, but the cut down his ribcage wouldn’t let him straighten without sending shoots of invisible flames up and down his side. To his horror, he saw that Aver now had his eyes set on him again, and the lesser demon’s expression told him that this time there would be no escape. Behind him, the demon began digging at the roots of the wall again, shreds of magic flying in tatters as it slowly worked its way free.

            “Anajyrosima, if you’ve got any benevolent cousins up above watching me right now, this would be a perfect time for a miracle,” Diddle muttered nervously, shuffling backwards away from Aver.

            Suddenly, it occurred to him that Eric shouldn’t have been able to come to his rescue. To do so, the old centaur would have had to break through the barriers that were protecting the stables.

            Diddle’s brain was just beginning to process the meaning of this when his prayer was answered and all hell broke loose…or at least, more so than it already had.

Chapter 35—All Hell

            When the demon began digging at the roots of the magic wall, the huge spell that held everything together on the farm together began to deteriorate. That included the protective spells that kept the centaurs penned in the stables.

            Oak beams and nails were nothing compared to the wrath of an angry centaur, let alone three. Roemer, Charryl, and Sisk had managed to widen the hole that Eric had created when he slipped free of the stables, and as one the three of them burst from their prison in a flurry of wicked black hooves and makeshift weapons.

            “Get away from Diddle!” Sisk roared, hurling a weighted beam with a nail on one end over her head so that it spun through the air and beaned the demon in the shoulder. Surprised, the demon lurched onto its hind legs, a look that said, “Oh, no, not these things again!” on its knobby features.

            Roemer was the fastest—and, probably, the most terrifying—of the three, and it was she who reached the demon first.

            Without even breaking stride, she seized the demon’s right horn in her fist as it swung its head around in confusion. Her left arm went back, and the demon had maybe two seconds to react before Roemer’s ironlike fist smashed into its jaw and snapped its head sideways.

            Still running at full gallop, Roemer followed the momentum of her blow, yanking the demon’s head even further sideways as she trampled across its toes, all the while yelling savagely.

            The demon managed to yank its horn out of her grasp, and it limped away with an angry bellow, still bewildered by the sudden turn of events. Roemer let go of its horn and slid to a halt a few meters away, stamping her hooves in challenge.

            “…And here I was thinking you would put up some sort of a fight,” she growled dangerously, kneading her fists so that her knuckles cracked. For a moment, even the demon looked scared.

“You’ve hurt my son’s best friend!” she roared. “Time to pay the price!”

            Sisk and Charryl caught up with Roemer just in time to join her as the fierce centaur captain charged towards the demon. The three of them fell on the monster all at once, Charryl with two more nail-studded beams to serve as makeshift clubs and Sisk with the old grain pail. Roemer carried no weapon, nor did she need one. She used her fists as bludgeons, hammering away at the demon’s leathery hide while kicking at its legs and gut with her hooves.

            The demon roared angrily as it fought off its attackers, but the sound was almost drowned by the pounding of centaur hooves against the ground and the metallic ringing of Sisk’s pail repeatedly connecting with its face. The ruckus the four of them made was incredible…and it was music to Diddle’s ears.

            Unfortunately, he still had some problems of his own to deal with.

            The appearance of the centaurs had shocked Aver just as much as it had Diddle, and for a minute or two, the two of them simply stood side by side, watching the demon get its face kicked inside out by centaur hooves. There was a moment when the two of them turned to look at one another, not really friends or enemies, but simply two shocked bystanders at the edge of a raging battle.

            Then Aver’s face grew dark again.

            “You!” he snarled, charging towards Diddle with his hands outstretched like claws. His face was all twisted and glimmering with scales, like some sort of demonic bulldog that had stuck its face in a fish gut pile.

            “You’ve tried to destroy my master!” the lesser demon shrieked, all traces of sanity or control completely gone. “I will kill you for this!”

            Diddle dodged Aver’s first swipe, his ribcage giving a painful twinge of protest.

            His injury wasn’t really that bad. It hadn’t been very deep, and was beginning to scab over and look like a potentially cool battle scar. Unfortunately, it was slowing Diddle down, and his quick jumps and sprints to stay away from Aver’s slashing claws were becoming sloppier and slower.

            There came one attack that Diddle knew he couldn’t dodge.

            He knew if he tried to jump away, Aver would slash him open with those wicked claws and drop his intestines onto the ground. If he ducked, he might not get up again in time, and end up much the same way. Since he couldn’t jump high enough to avoid Aver’s hands, that left only one other option.

            Diddle leaped forward and hugged Aver.

            Aver was surprised, so Diddle had enough time to turn around in the lesser demon’s arms and grab Aver’s wrists in his hands. He then pulled them in to his chest, crossing Aver’s arms and using his armpits to trap the lesser demon’s biceps. Surprised, Aver tried to wrench away, but it proved to be a hard hold to break away from.

            It was now a matter of who was stronger.

            Aver stumbled, yanking at his arms in an attempt to pull them free of Diddle’s grip. Diddle hung on tenaciously, his fingernails digging into Aver’s wrists and his armpits sore from clamping down on the lesser demon’s biceps. Growling in annoyance, Aver tried to bring his foot up and kick Diddle off, but Diddle slammed his heel into the butler’s knee and threw him off-balance.

            The two of them stumbled around in the torn-up remains of the field, Aver trying not to fall over and Diddle holding on for dear life. Already, he could feel his grip weakening, his sweaty fingers slipping as Aver yanked backwards with his arms. As a last-ditch attempt, Diddle tried slamming his head backwards into Aver’s nose, hoping to knock the butler out or, at the very least, break something. It was a dumb idea.

            Unfortunately for Diddle, Aver’s face was like a rock. Diddle’s vision went blurry for a moment as his skull connected with the scales on the butler’s face, though he felt something give—probably the demon’s nose. He felt Aver’s arms slip loose, and he knew it was over.

            Diddle decided to go out with a bang this time, and so he curled his hand into a fist and swung around so he could have the satisfaction of punching Aver in the face one last time.

            Aver’s expression made him stop.

            The lesser demon didn’t look triumphant or angry. He wasn’t even looking at Diddle. His ugly, shiny face—now even uglier because of his broken nose—was facing the woods, his yellow eyes wide and his pupils contracted down to nearly invisible slits. His jagged, toothy mouth was hanging open in terror.

            “The-they’re back!” he hissed.

            Diddle turned to see what on earth Aver was talking about. The sight that met him was almost as terrifying to him as it was to the lesser demon.

            The shreeks were back.

            They hadn’t just come in a little group of two or three this time—it was the entire nest. About a dozen of the towering, milky-white monsters were gathered at the edge of the woods, their sightless eyes somehow fixed directly on Aver and Diddle and their mouths hanging open.

            But they weren’t attacking.

            Their heads were raised expectantly, and their muscles tensed to run, but their spiny neck frills remained flattened against their heads and their feet planted in place, as if they were awaiting some order that had yet to be given.

            Confused, Diddle searched for a Wyrn shreek, but none of them seemed to be in charge. He couldn’t understand why they were holding back, or how they had managed to re-band so quickly after he and Reel had driven them away. He was confused, that is, until a lone, smallish, dirty-gray figure stepped from amidst the huge monsters, his fur and hair tangled with burrs and twigs but his back straight and his inky black eyes shining.

            “Get the lesser demon!” Reel roared, rearing onto his hind legs and charging.

            The shreeks responded like trained dogs, their frills shooting upright eagerly as they charged forward, and a familiar hunting cry rising from their throats. Despite Reel’s long legs, the shreeks quickly outstripped him, and all Diddle could see was an advancing wall of white hide and teeth as the monsters bore down on him and Aver.

            Fortunately, Diddle’s muscles didn’t lock in place out of pure panic. He had sense enough to make a run for it, avoiding Aver as the lesser demon took off in the opposite direction. It was fortunate for Diddle that they split up, otherwise the shreeks may not have bothered to distinguish demon from diddle.

            When he realized he wasn’t being followed, Diddle stopped and whirled around. He caught a brief glimpse of Aver as the lesser demon sprinted for the safety of the stables. The former butler’s face didn’t look intimidating at all anymore—simply scared and ugly. His stiff black uniform was in rags at that point, the shredded cuffs trailing behind his arms and his ripped coattails flapping in his wake, inches from the jaws of the fastest shreek.

            Diddle had never seen another humanoid creature book it that fast before. Aver’s legs were turning about so fast that they were little more than a black blur, and a tiny cloud of dust rose in his wake as he pounded across the hard-packed ground of the centaur pasture. Unfortunately for him, however, he was hopelessly outmatched. Behind him, the white mass of shreeks was gaining, and inevitably his luck gave out. The snout of the nearest shreek was drawing steadily closer and closer to him, and finally its tooth happened to snag on the tip of the lesser demon’s coattail. Aver stumbled, managed to right himself when the cloth ripped, only to suddenly find himself surrounded by the nest.

Diddle got one last glimpse of the lesser demon before the huge creatures overran him. Aver was in rags, obviously exhausted, but somehow defiant and angry as ever. He hissed viciously at the first shreek to reach him, and made a lunge for the creature’s throat. Surprised, the shreek swayed sideways to avoid the attack, and allowed the lesser demon to run into the tough, leathery skin on its ribs. Aver shrieked in frustration, and then he was lost as the huge creatures overran him.

By the time they were finished, Aver had been reduced to a scattering of black shreds of cloth on the ground, the occasional scale dotting the heap like glitter. There wasn’t a bone or drop of blood to be found.

            Diddle shuddered; Aver was a horrible creature, and probably would have done the same to Diddle, but it still was a pretty grisly way to go.

            “Diddle!”

            Diddle had time enough to halfway turn around before he was suddenly engulfed in a painful bear hug that made his ribs feel like they were on fire all over again.

            “Mmf! Reel!” Diddle choked, flailing his arms weakly. Thankfully, Reel released him before anything cracked, and he was able to breathe again after he’d dropped to the ground.

            “You’re alive!” Reel said, grinning and whinnying a little in excitement. Diddle grinned back.

            “Strangely enough,” he said. “And so are yo—Whoa!”

            Diddle started with surprise as he suddenly realized that Reel wasn’t alone. Behind the little centaur, towering over the two of them like a gigantic white tree, stood another shreek. It was a little bigger than the others, but it had a different look to it. Its spines were flattened meekly to its head, and its head was cocked in an almost playful manner. As Diddle watched, a shred of ripped magic fluttered past its nose, and the shreek’s spines perked expectantly. It gave a playful snap at the shred, and then sneezed as the piece tickled its nChapter 30—Pursuit

            Nero was right—the shreeks were not hard to track at all.

            Diddle had exited the wall at the place where he and Jyro had first experimented with the spell holding her inside, this time walking through completely. The feeling of being disconnected from half his body was unnerving, but it only lasted a moment before Diddle was completely on the other side. Once there, he realized just how bad things had been getting without Anajyrosima to control the weather.

            The wind was beginning to pick up, shaking and bending the towering trees that surrounded the farm so that their leaves rattled ominously in the wind and their boughs creaked loudly. The storm clouds building above the wall were huge, black, and anvil-shaped, occasionally flickering with thin bolts of lightning. Everything looked to be resisting some sort of huge catastrophe, something that had been building ever since Jyro’s disappearance and was on the verge of bursting. The weather needed Jyro back; that much Diddle was sure of.

            Orienting himself with the shadowy form of the stables just beyond the wall, Diddle began making his way around the edge of the farm’s property, keeping the pasture on his right and the trees on his left. He kept his eyes carefully peeled for anything out of the ordinary—a broken twig, a large footprint, or a scratch in a tree trunk—that might show him where the shreeks had gone. When he found what he was looking for, he felt a little stupid for being so careful.

            The shreeks had basically ripped apart the undergrowth where they’d passed through. There was a huge swath of cleared land leading right up to the wall, surrounded on all sides by tangled piles of old, dried brambles and dead saplings. The ground on the path was pounded into a rock-like surface by the passage of dozens of feet, with only the occasional impression of a huge, clawed toe at the edges to tell Diddle exactly how big a creature he was dealing with.

From those occasional toe marks, however, he could tell that the creatures were a lot bigger than he’d imagined. His mind balked for a moment at the idea of pressing onward, images of gigantic, blind, bipedal lizards with long, sharp teeth invading his mind.

Diddle shook his head. Yes, these creatures were monstrous and yes, this was probably the most terrifying and/or dangerous thing he’d ever attempted in his life…and yes, his mother would probably kill him ten times over if she found out what he was doing. But Reel was in even more danger, and Diddle was the only person who could save him. Plus, Roemer would murder him if she found out he’d run away.

Patting the whistle in his pocket to make sure it was there, Diddle set off into the darkness of the forest.

Diddle was worried that the shreeks might have posted sentinels on the path, so he kept off to one side of it, weaving through the underbrush while keeping the path to his left, just within sight. He prided himself on his forest walking, but even he had problems negotiating the thick brambles as they clutched and pulled at his legs. After a few minutes, his arms looked as if they’d been mauled by an angry cat.

Around him, the landscape was changing. The trees were getting older as he went on, the trunks thicker and the roots that twined about at their feet bigger. The undergrowth thinned, much to Diddle’s relief, and he was able to pad forward on the thick carpet of roots and moss underneath without making a sound.

As he progressed towards the oldest part of the forest, a sense of foreboding began to settle on Diddle. He found himself glancing around at the surrounding shadows more and more frequently, constantly checking to make sure the path was still to his left. He had the feeling that he was wandering into something far more dangerous than he’d bargained for.

Up ahead, Diddle began noticing odd patches in the ground where huge trees had been uprooted, the ground torn and twisted, snapped roots poking out of the earth. Diddle had only to follow the trail of missing trees, tracking the huge holes in the earth and the mammoth, three-toed footprints back to the very center of the old growth grove, where the shreeks had built their nest.

It appeared as a huge, black blob in the dying light of the forest when Diddle finally stumbled upon it. The tangled, twisting forms of tree boughs stretched into the air as black silhouettes, outlined by the canopy of trees overhead. The hard-packed path that Diddle had followed was one among several, all of which seemed to lead right back to a large, black hole in the side of the nest. The path that led to the farm was the most used, though.

There were no sentries, but Diddle wasn’t stupid enough to simply walk inside and trust that the shreeks weren’t gathered out of view just waiting for him. He kept hidden in the shadows, his eyes searching the edges of the nest for some way to scale it. The nest itself didn’t look like the best climbing surface. True, there were plenty of handholds, but there were tons of poky branches that would probably catch at his clothes and stab at his eyes. It didn’t look very stable, either, like it might collapse if he put too much weight on it.

He settled instead for an old, twisting maple tree that hung over the edge of the nest. Most of the good climbing branches were up high, but that was no problem for Diddle.

            Double-checking to make sure nothing was watching, Diddle backed up into the shadows, his eyes fixed on the tree and his legs coiled beneath him. He moved onto his toes, steadying himself against the ground with one hand, and silently calculated the best spot to start in order to not bang his head against a branch. When he had his spot mentally marked, he quickly scanned the forest floor, searching out anything that might trip him up. When he was satisfied, he took off.

            His crouched legs shot him forward like a bullet into an all-out sprint, his feet dancing nimbly across the carpet of twisting roots. He reached the base of the tree and pushed off the ground, running a few feet vertically up the tree before he was forced to lean forward and grab the thick, furrowed bark in his hands.

            Still he kept his momentum going, his feet launching him off the trunk while his hands instinctively sought out near-invisible handholds in the space of a few heartbeats. He reached the lowest branch mere seconds after touching the base of the tree, and he quickly swung himself over and onto the branch to crouch with his back against the main trunk and his feet balanced lightly on the rounded surface of the branch. He quickly checked his breathing and slowed his racing heart down to normal.

            All without making a sound.

            Normally, had he been climbing a tree at home in his back yard, Diddle might have paused a moment to gloat over having scaled a tree of such size. This time, however, he knew that the tree was the least of the obstacles he would have to overcome. Getting Reel out of the nest under the very noses of the shreeks would be hard. If Reel was injured, doubly so. If the shreeks were outside the nest at the moment, the two of them might stand half a chance. If not, then things would probably be a little more interesting than Diddle liked. Either way, there was only one way to find out.

            Diddle had made sure to keep the main trunk of the tree between himself and the nest as he climbed, keeping himself hidden. After positioning himself more comfortably on the branch he was perched on, he cautiously poked his head around the trunk, careful to keep to the shadowed side so the paleness of his face wouldn’t give him away. He needn’t have bothered; even in the half-daylight of the slowly waning sun, the deep gloom of the forest almost seemed tangible, as if the darkness itself was alive. Diddle’s small, inconsequential figure was swallowed by the vast forms of the trees surrounding him, making him veritably invisible to his enemies. Fortunately, there didn’t appear to be any in the nest at the moment.

            He could see Reel. The small, gangly-legged centaur was sprawled on his side at the edge of the clearing, about twenty feet away from the door to the nest. He was conscious, but his face was pale and drawn and his teeth were clenched together in a pained grimace. His silvery hair was matted with dirt and sweat, and his face smudged with dirt run through with pale streaks that showed he’d been crying. There was no one guarding him, but there was no need for that, anyway. His left foreleg sported a set of bloody streaks where his attackers had clamped their jaws about it to drag him away. There were similar streaks decorating his bare shoulders and torso, though they were little more than scratches and appeared to have been made by the glancing touch of claws rather than teeth. Reel was alive at least, though for how long, Diddle could not say.

            Reel was one of many victims, though he appeared to be the only living one at the moment. Cow carcasses and random chunks of unidentifiable meat were strewn all across the clearing, which looked as though it had been forcefully cleared of trees then stomped flat by a family of large animals. Uprooted tree trunks and the severed boughs of gigantic trees were weaved into a crude, tangled excuse for a wall around the perimeter of the clearing. Inside the wall, the ground was packed down into a rock-like surface, with the occasional shard of chewed bone embedded in the dirt like a fossil. There was a single “door” that led into the clearing, which was little more than a ragged gap in the fence of debris. It was through this gap that Diddle saw the first specimen of his enemy. He silently cursed as the creature tromped through the doorway, its footsteps heavy and thudding.

            It walked on two legs like a giant, white, lizard-like chicken, though infinitely more horrible to look at. It had a thick, wedge-shaped tail like a dinosaur to counterbalance its thick, arched neck and massive skull. Its weight was supported by a pair of muscular legs tipped with long, dagger claws. It had forearms, but they were smaller than the hind legs, almost vestigial, and were kept curled at the creature’s chest like the useless wings of a chicken. These, too were clawed, though they didn’t look half as dangerous as the creature’s mouth.

            The creature’s head was long and narrow like a horse, with flattened, spiny frills projecting from behind the jaw that flowed up to the peak of its head and continued down its spine. When the creature opened its mouth, its head split in two, revealing rows of long, needle thin teeth arranged on either side of a long, forked tongue that flicked about eagerly to taste the air like a snake. The vice-like jaws clicked softly whenever it snapped its mouth closed, which it seemed to use as a sort of Morse code as it spoke to two others that had followed it into the clearing. Diddle noted that none of them had pupils, only white, sightless eyeballs that stared blindly at nothing. Whenever they “spoke” to one another, they turned their heads sideways to better hear one another instead of facing each other. Despite his fear, an indistinct idea crept into Diddle’s head.

            By this time, a group of about ten of the creatures had entered the clearing. They rattled and clicked conversationally, occasionally making a noise in the back of their throat that had the shrieking quality of a cat in pain. Diddle noticed that most exchanges of the strange sound seemed to come from two particularly large individuals, both of which seemed to be engaged in some sort of quarrel.

            There was no telling what the argument was about, nor was there any way to tell which creature was in the right, but the confrontation suddenly reached its peak in a sudden display of such violence that Diddle was left feeling as if he were about to throw up.

            There were two monsters; one bigger than the other and scarred all across its neck and chest from past battles fought and won—the leader. The smaller of the two creatures, whom Diddle assumed to be some rival for control of the nest, suddenly feinted a quick lunge for the other’s throat. The move seemed to be little more than a threat, but the bigger creature took the attack quite seriously.

            The thin, hair-like spikes that ran down the creature’s spine from its head to the tip of its tail suddenly flattened, while the frilled spines behind its head suddenly shot upward with a noise like a snake hissing just before it struck. The creature’s mouth opened, and it gave a cry unlike anything Diddle had ever heard before.

            It was similar to the cat-like sound it had been making before, only it was louder, shriller, and more sudden than before. It made Diddle’s neck hairs stand on end, and he heard a flock of birds take off from fright somewhere off in the distance. It was the sound that had given these creatures their name: the shreeks.

            Like a cobra striking its prey, the bigger creature lashed its head forward with its jaws still agape, its blind eyes rolling excitedly in their sockets with battle fever. The second shreek screamed shrilly and tried to dodge, but those terrible teeth fastened about its throat before it could move and pinned it in place. For a moment, the smaller creature struggled to wrench free of the larger one’s jaws, its hind legs clawing frantically at the ground and its useless front legs waving towards the belly of its attacker. Then, with a swift wrench of the bigger shreek’s head, it was over.

            Diddle and Reel both stared with open-mouthed horror at the gruesome spectacle they’d just witnessed. The victor shreek was standing above the limp body of its challenger, its mouth open so that the other monsters could clearly see its red-stained teeth and tongue. When at last it was satisfied that its strength and power were undisputed, it gave one final shriek, this one of triumph rather than challenge.

            Diddle saw Reel shudder at the sound. The little centaur’s eyes were squeezed shut, though it did nothing to block out the sounds that his captors were making as they dragged their dead companion over to a corner of the fence. It was obvious that he was trying not to cry out in terror, and he succeeded…save for one small squeak.

            The leader of the shreeks, or the “Nest Wyrn,” as Nero’s Monsters book had described it, suddenly cocked its head to one side. The frills on the side of its head were flattened again, but they fluttered briefly in response to Reel’s small squeak. It slowly turned towards the little centaur, and despite the blind stare of its milky white eyes, Diddle could almost sense its gaze lingering hungrily on his friend.

            The creature clicked its teeth softly, then began to advance, its mouth partially open. Panicked, Reel’s eyes snapped open, and he made an attempt to climb to his feet. He couldn’t rest any weight on his injured leg, however, and he sank back to the ground with a small moan.

            Diddle knew how to be quiet, and like a shadow he began to creep forward. He had no need to worry about being seen by his enemies, but he was still thankful for the dark cover of the forest; If Reel made any sound to betray his presence, they were both doomed.

            The Wyrn was standing even with Reel. It sniffed him, its nostrils quivering and its frills twitching thoughtfully as it considered its prey. From his perch behind the far side of the fence, Diddle saw Reel’s spine stiffen and his jaw clench. It wasn’t out of fear, though.

            “If you’re going to eat me, then eat me already!” he shouted, raising one clenched fist.

            With a resounding ‘smack!’ that seemed to surprise both him and the shreek, he lashed forward in a vicious left hook that caught the huge creature in the sensitive flesh of its snout. The creature’s head snapped sideways, and it reared backward with a small snort of surprise.  It stood there for a moment, shocked rather than hurt, with its head frills stiff and a bemused expression on its face. Given enough time, it probably would have recovered and lunged at Reel without a moment’s hesitation. Diddle didn’t give it that time.

            He’d used Reel’s shouting as cover for his footsteps as he crept ever closer to the shreek that was threatening his friend. The fence, he’d discovered, was riddled with gaps and holes big enough for him to crawl through, and he found one that was almost perfectly even with the Wyrn’s head. He sat there for a moment, watching Reel and the shreek, all possible means of attack running through his head in quick succession. There weren’t many, and a good ninety-eight percent of them involved committing suicide and/or resulted in extreme bodily harm.

He knew that wouldn’t work, however, since Reel couldn’t escape on that leg without help. That left only one option. He really wished there were something else he could do, but it seemed as if he had only one choice.

Bunching his legs beneath him and placing his hands on the branches in front of him for balance, Diddle measured the distance between himself and the shreek’s head. If he missed, it would whirl on him and probably dismember him before he had a chance to get back on his feet. If he hit his target, he still might be dismembered anyway, only he’d have a few moments to reflect on how stupid a plan it had been before his guts were ripped out.

            Either way, it would be interesting to see the shreek’s reaction.

            Diddle didn’t hesitate once he made his decision. With a loud shout to draw attention to himself, he suddenly launched himself from the gap in the fence, hurling himself into the air with his arms outstretched and his legs spinning as if he were running through the air.

Time slowed for a moment, and Diddle was able to process everything around him as he flew through the air. He saw Reel—surprised, but hopeful—and the Nest Wyrn—also surprised, but in a more horrified way. Diddle had a moment to gloat and think that perhaps his plan wasn’t such a bad one before he finally landed and everything went spinning out of control.

            Diddle had been aiming to land on the back of the creature’s head. Unfortunately, the shreek turned in response to his shout, and he ended up landing right smack in the middle of its face, his arms wrapped tightly about its snout and his chin resting on the plate of bone between its two pale, widely spaced eyes. The shreek paused for a moment in shock, and then it went ballistic.

            Diddle was holding the creature’s mouth closed, but the creature was still able to reach a painful, if muffled pitch as it threw back its head and shrieked in anger. Diddle felt his teeth knock together painfully as the creature whipped its head in crazy circles, is useless forelegs waving frantically as it attempted to bend its head down and scrape him off with its claws.

Failing in this, the shreek flopped onto its side and slammed its head sideways against the ground. The terrible force with which it did so would have killed Diddle on impact, had he not slung himself to one side so that only the Wyrn’s skull connected with the ground. It made no second attempt.

            The shreek somehow managed to stumble drunkenly to its feet, its head and body swaying woozily back and forth beneath it and its forked tongue protruding from between its front jaws in an almost comic fashion.

 Diddle noticed in that brief lull that the other shreeks had been creeping in closer and closer during the fight. None of them looked as if they were coming to the Wyrn’s aid out of sheer good will. The frantic thrashing and flailing of their Nest Wyrn had prevented them from making any direct attacks, but the instant their leader stopped moving, they pounced.                

            There was no telling whether they were aiming at Diddle or the Wyrn. Maybe both. Either way, Diddle had absolutely no intentions of sticking around to find out.

Amid the terrified shrieks of the Wyrn and the steady throb of the shreeks’ huge clawed feet as they lunged forward, not one of them heard Diddle drop from the Wyrn’s snout and dodge away from the melee as the shreeks slammed into the Wyrn. He ignored the horrible screams and snarling behind him as the creatures fell on their unfortunate leader, and instead sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him to Reel’s side.

            The little centaur still lay on his side, but his human half was propped up on his arms and his face alert. As Diddle fell into a crouch at his side, the centaur seized him by one shoulder and said in a fierce whisper,

            “You actually came!”

            “Shh! Don’t let them hear you,” Diddle warned, glancing at Reel’s injured leg. He winced sympathetically. “Do you know what to do with an injury like this?” he asked.

            Reel shook his head. “Mom tried to teach me once, but I threw up.”

            Diddle laughed ruefully, but it sounded strained, even to himself. “Don’t worry, this doesn’t look too bad. I’ll do my best, and then we need to get out of here.”

            “I can’t walk,” Reel protested. Diddle glared at him.

            “You’re coming, and that’s that,” he growled. “I didn’t come all this way just to leave you behind for them when they get done with their friend there.” He gestured backwards at where the shreeks were still fighting. It looked as if they’d finished with the former Nest Wyrn, of which there was precious little to identify it by, and were now fighting it out amongst themselves for a replacement. “Besides…” Diddle continued. “Your mom will kill me if I don’t come back with you.”

            “Glad to know she missed me,” Reel said wryly. Diddle only grunted in response.

            Diddle knew little to nothing about first aid, but he did know that bleeding was bad. Some of the bite marks had scabbed over, but the bigger ones had yet to close up, and thick beads of bright red blood oozed from the cuts and pooled on the ground around Reel’s feet. Reel still looked pale, and Diddle hoped the centaur hadn’t lost too much blood.

            He quickly tore a few lengths of cloth from his pant leg and tied them around the worst cuts as tightly as he could. Reel winced as he did so, and Diddle realized that the bandages were too tight. He quickly loosened them, though not enough for them to slip off. When he was done, Reel’s foot looked as if someone had attempted to mummify it, and then abandoned the project halfway through and simply left it half-covered in bloody scraps of bandages. The bleeding had stopped, however, and Diddle was at least somewhat satisfied with his handiwork.

            “Come on,” he said, grabbing Reel’s arm. The centaur groaned softly as he tried to put weight on his foot, then slumped back to the ground.

            “I can’t do it,” he moaned. Then he caught the look in Diddle’s eye, and quickly amended his statement. “I’ll try, though.”

            “Just lean on my shoulder,” Diddle prompted. “We can do this.” He wrapped his arms around Reel’s skinny torso and tried to stand up. His eyes bugged at the centaur’s unexpected weight, and his kneecaps threated to pop off. Reel grabbed Diddle’s shoulders in return, and he struggled valiantly to lift the weight of his front half with his one good leg while his two hind legs scrambled to get underneath him and support his hind end.

            Finally, after several near-falls and only one incident of Reel stepping on Diddle’s foot, they were upright.

            “All right,” Diddle grunted from beneath Reel’s shoulder. “Let’s go before they see us.”

            “That’s easy enough,” Reel responded reflexively.

            “Har, har. Let’s go before they hear us,” Diddle amended irritably.

            It was slow, awkward, and tiring work, but they slowly made their way out of the shreek’s nest together. The shreeks themselves didn’t notice them go, as the monstrous creatures were too intent upon tearing one another to pieces to hear the uneven clopping of Reel’s hooves or the heavy, plodding thumping of Diddle’s tennis shoes.

            They might have gotten away, but it was then that it began to rain.

It was more of a drizzle, really. The building black clouds above the tops of the trees were still valiantly clinging to a heavy deluge, but even the incredible might of the weather could not withstand the impending storm that was brewing, not without Anajyrosima. The pattering drops of rain were little more than a shower, but they were enough to make Diddle and Reel extremely wet and cold. As the two of them walked, Diddle became aware of a tickle deep down in his lungs.

            “Oh, no, for the love of Anajyrosi—“ Then he sneezed.

Chapter 31—A Race Against Doom

            The sound was like a gunshot in a quiet room. At least, that’s what it sounded like to Diddle and Reel.

The two of them froze, terrified, as all sound faded from the forest. They couldn’t hear the shreeks fighting anymore, but they were at least fifty yards away by this point, and they could have simply been out of hearing range. They waited for a sound, their ears strained and their muscles cramped because they’d frozen in mid-stride. They waited for five minutes in this way, but still there was nothing save the steady patter of the rain on the leaves of the trees.

            Finally, when he’d been holding his breath for what seemed like ages and he felt as if his lungs would burst, Diddle exhaled.        

            That’s when they heard it.

            The shriek started low, then slowly rose in pitch and volume as more and more of the creatures joined in the call and their excitement grew. Diddle felt Reel’s fur bristle, and the hairs on the back of his own neck were standing on end as if charged with electricity. The hunting cry finally ended, but in the silence it left, Diddle could hear the thundering of running feet—many of them.

            “Run!” he shouted.

            Reel was able to manage an awkward half-canter with his injured leg, with Diddle serving as the fourth foot as the two of them struggled onward as fast as they could manage.

Centaurs healed fast, and Reel was no exception. His hurt limb didn’t seem to be troubling him quite as much as a few minutes before, but they were still moving far too slow. Diddle could hear the nest of shreeks growing closer and closer, and he was beginning to feel the thundering tremors of their feet through the ground.

            “Diddle, they’re gonna catch us!” Reel shouted in panic.

            “No they’re not!” Diddle protested furiously, pulling Reel along faster. “We’ll get ahead, hide, and then wait for them to go away.”

            “Diddle, they can smell us,” Reel said. “And now that they’re paying attention, they’ll hear us, too.”

            “Hear…” The idea Diddle had had before occurred to him again.

            “Diddle! Look ou—aaaah!” Reel’s warning came too late.

Neither of them had noticed the small dip in the road in front of them. As Diddle’s front foot and Reel’s front hoof tipped over the edge of it, they suddenly discovered that the dip was in fact a small gully, and the ledge they’d just stepped off led straight down into a small drop-off. The two of them suddenly found themselves tumbling downwards in a tangle of flailing arms and legs, unable to check their momentum as they were tossed and turned upside-down over and over again.

            By some miracle, Reel prevented himself from landing on his bad leg. Unfortunately, the two of them were stuck. There was no way Reel could get up in time to escape.

            “Diddle…”

            “If you say, ‘Go on without me,’ you lose your tail,” Diddle growled, untangling himself from Reel’s hooves. Reel smiled wanly, but his face was pale with terror.

            “Diddle, we can’t fight them,” he said.

            Diddle pulled out Eric’s little silver whistle. “Watch me,” he growled with unusual ferocity.

            Above them, the pounding of the shreeks’ feet grew steadily louder, until it was almost a roar.

            Then it stopped.

            A single small rock dislodged itself from the top of the ledge and tumbled down to a rest near Diddle’s sneaker. He put the whistle in his mouth and covered the top two holes. His heart beat frantically as he watched the pale snout of one of the shreeks poke from beyond the ledge, the sensitive nostrils quivering as they tested the air. It gave a loud snort, and then clicked its teeth a couple times in evident satisfaction. Several pale, narrow heads appeared over the ledge, though the biggest of them remained in front. Apparently, they’d already ‘elected’ their new Wyrn.

            First one at a time, then with gathering speed, the hollow, hair-like spines covering the Wyrn’s neck and tail stood on end. The sound grew to match the pattering of the rain as the entire Nest joined in, their ear frills cocked expectantly.

            “That’s right…” Diddle said aloud. Reel gave him a look that suggested he was nuts. Perhaps he was.

            “…You just listen to this.”

            Pursing his lips, Diddle played the highest note on the whistle as loudly as he possibly could.

            The sound itself was beautiful; it reminded Diddle of a red-winged blackbird, as the sound trilled a little despite his holding the note steady. The effect on the shreeks, however, was incredible… not to mention infinitely more beautiful in Diddle’s eyes.

            The Wyrn was the first to react. Diddle had thought that the spines on its head couldn’t rise any farther than they had during the fight, but now he discovered that those spines were capable of jutting straight into the air, as if they were trying to leave the creature’s heads altogether. The monster’s eyes bugged in panic, its mouth flew open in a gape of horror, and then it screamed, though not loudly enough to drown the melodious trill of the whistle.

            The shreek’s head snapped back spasmodically, its vestigial forearms waving wildly with the claws stuck straight out and the tendons along its neck protruding as it whipped its head in frantic circles, its massive, heavily muscled legs churning fitfully at the ground even as it flopped onto its side and began thrashing around in evident pain.

            The other shreeks weren’t quite as badly affected. Maybe it was because they weren’t as close to the sound as their leader, or perhaps it was some strange magic that made the Wyrn automatically more susceptible to the sound. Either way, they didn’t stand around long as the music tore at their sensitive eardrums and caused them to stampede in a mad scramble for safety.

 Unlike their leader, their ear frills were flattened to their skulls as they scrambled and tripped over one another in their panicked flight. One or two of them fell over entirely, and it was an almost comedic sight to watch as they attempted to scramble to their feet with only their massive hind legs for balance, their smaller forearms waving feebly as they basically pushed themselves forward like wheel-less wheelbarrows, their faces pressed into the dirt.

When they were all gone save the Wyrn, and Diddle’s breath finally ran out, he ended the note and removed the whistle from his lips. Reel stared at him in wonder, his eyes wide with astonishment and his mouth agape.

            “Where on earth did you get that?” he asked.

            “Eric gave it to me,” Diddle replied, looking fondly at the little silver whistle. “I guess he knows what he’s doing once in a while.”

            “Why didn’t you use it earlier?” the little centaur challenged.

            “Didn’t know it would work,” Diddle replied. He handed the whistle to Reel. “Keep it as a souvenir,” he said. Reel grinned and settled the hemp cord attached to the whistle around his neck, allowing the little silver pendant to settle below his throat.

            “Shreek-proof,” he said with a grin. Diddle snorted.

            “I doubt they’d attack again, even if you didn’t have it,” he said. “I’ll bet our smell is like a red warning flare by now.”

            “What about the Wyrn?” Reel asked. Diddle craned his neck upwards a little, but he couldn’t see beyond the ledge, and the Wyrn hadn’t made a sound since the stampede.

            “Let’s go see,” he said.

            Getting Reel out of the gully took a little effort, though the wound was definitely healing rapidly and the centaur was able to place a lot more of his weight on it than before. They managed to scramble over the ridge together, each leaning against the other for support, and together they found themselves staring at the quivering wreck that had once been the nest Wyrn of the shreeks.”

            “All right,” Diddle said with a sigh. “I feel a little bad for him.”

            “I notice you’ve given him a gender, now that he’s not pursuing us,” Reel commented, raising one eyebrow in Diddle’s direction.

            “I tend to think of malicious monsters intent on spilling my blood as, ‘it’,” Diddle replied. “I don’t think this one’s going to be chasing us any time soon.”

            It seemed as if the music of the little silver whistle had completely destroyed the Wyrn’s mind. No longer did it have the cold intelligence and determination of a wild dog intent on its prey. A bumblebee could have scared it.

 It laid where it had fallen, its mouth open and panting, and its back legs curled meekly up to its belly as it whimpered quietly like a beaten dog. Even after being captured, injured, then held hostage by the creatures, even Reel couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the creature. This had been the master of the forest. Now it was little more than a quivering rabbit.

            “Is there anything we can do?” the centaur asked. Diddle frowned, and then shook his head.

            “I don’t think so,” he said. “I don’t think we should go near it, even if it is subdued. Animals are always more dangerous when they’re hurt,” he said.

            “As I proved,” Reel said with a grin. Diddle grinned back, and for a moment, he felt the heavy weight of responsibility and graveness that he’d felt ever since he’d set out after Reel fade away.

 He realized then that this was what the adventuring he’d been waiting for all his life was like. Adventure was, by definition, the encountering of hardships. It wasn’t half as fun as he’d envisioned, yet there still remained a certain appeal to the prospect. Perhaps if it was only his life on the line, and the expectations of so many others weren’t focused on him, he wouldn’t be adverse to it at all… but then again, maybe it was the expectations of others that made it an adventure.

            He mentally shrugged. He would work it out another time. In the meantime, he still had some work to do.

            “Come on,” he said to Reel, turning towards Avon’s property. “I promised your mom I’d get you back, and if I don’t, I’m going to the deepest pit of hell and she’ll come along to punish me.”

            “Sounds harsh,” Reel said, limping along with Diddle.

            “Not really, considering it’s her who said it,” Diddle said. “No offense.”

            “Offense? I agree with you,” Reel said. Diddle grinned.

Chapter 32—Unveiling Disguises

            Diddle did his best to help Reel along. What with the young centaur’s hurt leg, he was forced to walk with a pronounced limp, so Diddle offered his shoulder for his friend to lean on as they plodded onward beneath the canopy of the forest, the ground soft and slightly muddy beneath their feet from the rain overhead. Diddle found himself surprised once more at the little centaur’s weight; despite his small size, Reel was still a heavy creature. His spindly legs were long, with strong hindquarters to make up for his lack of upper arm strength.

 It occurred to Diddle that, perhaps Reel had been training the wrong way all this time. He wanted to become a sword fighter like Roemer, but that involved upper arm strength he didn’t possess. Diddle remembered the little centaur’s proficiency with a sling, and he began to wonder even more where Reel’s true talent might lie.

            “You know,” Diddle said as the two of them stumbled along. “You’d probably be a good sprinter, or even a distance runner.”

            Reel’s head turned in surprise, his innocent, boyish features puzzled. “What do you mean by that?” he asked.

            “I mean, I don’t think you should be trying to copy your mother,” Diddle said. “You’re not the same as her. You have different talents.”

            “But I’ve always wanted to become a swordsman!” Reel protested, frowning. “I wanted to carry on the legacy.”

            Diddle thought for a moment, watching his feet as he did so. He glanced over at Reel’s hooves, and then compared them to his own shoes.

Two different species, and they were allies—friends, even. He hadn’t realized it, but by befriending the centaurs, he was carrying on his own father’s work in a way.

            “I think…I understand,” he said haltingly. He glanced up at Reel. “I want to continue what my father did before me, but…” He grinned. “…I’m too unique to do it his way.”

            Reel cocked his head, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “So, you want to twist fate?” he asked.

            “It’s not fate,” Diddle replied. “We’re masters of our own path. I don’t want to fight in a war like my dad did, but I do want to bring the centaurs and the humans closer together like he did.”

            Reel smiled. “I think I understand,” he said. “Our past is part of us, but we shouldn’t allow it to control what we become.”

            “We’re masters of our own fate,” Diddle agreed.

            “Not in this instant, you aren’t.”

            Reel screamed as a foot suddenly lashed out from behind a tree and kicked him in his injured leg. It was a horrible sound, like the cry of a man in pain mixed with the panicked squeal of a horse, and it caused Diddle to stumble away with his hands clapped over his ears. He saw a tall, black figure leap at his friend from behind the tree, and he rushed forward so he could protect Reel.

            “Diddle! No!”

            Diddle halted instinctively at the sound of a familiar voice. He felt a surge of relief as he slowed and turned to face the speaker, even as some nagging part of his brain protested that something was wrong. His relief turned to shock and horror as Betty’s hands swiped across his cheek, bringing him to his knees as white-hot pain blossomed where her long, clawed fingers had gouged deep scratches in his skin.

            “Stupid boy!” the cook snarled, lunging towards Diddle with her mottled gray and white hands outstretched.

Her skin glistened in the wan light of the forest, and it wasn’t because of the rain shed by the steadily building storm, either. Her once plump, red, cheerful face had become almost bloated, and her skin was now a mottled, pasty gray that twisted about her unnaturally pale, thin lips in a menacing sneer. Her eyes were small, cold, and black, and when she opened her mouth to hiss at Diddle she revealed tiny, fishlike teeth that had been filed into razor-like nibs. Her luxurious brown hair had turned stringy and sparse, and the salty reek of soy sauce permeated the air around her as if she was a dead fish. Diddle found himself reminded of an eel.

            Diddle dodged as Betty leaped at him, causing her to give an enraged snarl as she stumbled past him. Clambering back to his feet, Diddle noted that she didn’t follow suit. Instead, she lay where she’d fallen, her dirty apron torn where a thorn had caught it, and her face reflecting that same, bone weary expression that had plagued Nero for the better part of a month.

            She’d been eating the genie poison.

            “Diddle!” Reel’s panicked scream prompted Diddle to whirl and face his other adversary.

It was the second lesser demon that Avon had bound to his will. Reel was half pinned beneath the man’s considerable bulk; the little centaur’s legs trapped beneath his own body at an awkward angle while his attacker sat on his back and struggled to bind his hands together behind his back. Diddle wasn’t at all surprised at who the demon was.

            Aver.

            Like Betty, the butler no longer looked like a normal human being. His demonic side was beginning to poke through his thin shroud of disguising magic, and it was almost more terrifying than Betty’s eelish resemblance.

            He too seemed to resemble a sort of fish; his skin had turned a metallic, steely gray, with ridges along his more pronounced cheekbones and forehead that might have been edged scales. His hands were clawed like Betty’s, and his black hair had silvered so that it matched his skin, making him look bald. His eyes were sunk deep in his skull, and they glowed yellow in the manner of a feral animal. His mouth and jaws were more pronounced, and instead of tiny needle teeth, he possessed gigantic spears of ragged enamel that jutted from his mouth in uneven rows. Those teeth opened in a warning snarl as Reel tried to wrench away, threatening to tear out the centaur’s throat with one mighty lunge of those ferocious jaws.

            He was a barracuda.

            Diddle didn’t think. He simply grabbed the nearest weapon he could find—a length of torn cloth from Betty’s apron—and leaped at the transformed butler. Aver’s grotesque, mutilated head swung to face him in surprise, but he was too slow to react. With almost animal determination, Diddle latched himself onto the demon’s back and wrapped the length of cloth around Aver’s neck, pulling back with all his strength.

            The demon writhed beneath Diddle’s grip and tried to snarl, but the pressure on his throat was pinching off his windpipe, and he was unable to make a sound. In an attempt to shake his attacker, he reared backwards and rolled on top of Diddle, crushing the air from Diddle’s lungs in a pained gasp. Diddle kept his grip, though, and he managed to force enough air through his constricted lungs to shout at Reel, who was now free.

            “Go! Get help! Don’t worry about me!”

            Reel managed to awkwardly scramble to his feet, his face contorting with pain as he put pressure on his injured leg. He began to shuffle towards Diddle and Aver, his hands drawn up into fists.

            “No!” Diddle howled frantically. “Get help!”   

            There was nothing Reel could do. Aver was too strong for even the two of them combined, and Reel could only seal their fate if he allowed himself to be captured. He hesitated a moment longer.

            “GO!”

With a look of anguish, Reel turned and raced back into the woods as fast as his injury would allow. Diddle watched him go with relief; at least now he was safe.

            In the meantime, however, Diddle found that he was getting weaker, while all the while Aver was getting more and more desperate as he was starved of air. The demon writhed frantically beneath the embrace of the cloth noose, and his arms flailed in a desperate attempt to catch Diddle off guard. Diddle was prepared to lie there all night until the demon strangled.

He wasn’t prepared, however, when Aver suddenly rolled onto his stomach, whipping Diddle about so that he hung to the butler’s left with his hands still clasped about the demon’s neck. The cloth was no longer pinching Aver’s windpipe, and the demon knocked Diddle away with a well-aimed elbow jab to the ribs that caused Diddle to double up in pain.

            Aver rolled to his feet, his breath coming in strangled coughs as he fought for air, and his long legs trembling. Diddle had managed to shake the huge demon, but Aver was far from defeated, and he didn’t take kindly to being humiliated by skinny twelve-year-old boys.

Still sore, Diddle tried to climb to his feet, only to be driven back into the dirt as Aver planted one foot in the middle of his back. He coughed weakly, trying to refocus his vision even as he became dimly aware of the fact that Aver was using a length of stiff cord to bind his hands behind his back. He yelped as the edged wire bit into his wrists, and was then silenced by a swift clout to the head that made him see stars.

            “Quiet, human,” hissed the butler’s voice, low and malicious. “It’s time you fulfilled the rest of your contract. You’d do best to do so peacefully if you want to see the sun rise again.”

            Diddle moaned softly as he was hauled to his feet, tottering unsteadily because of his lack of balance without his hands. Aver pushed him forward, past where Betty was beginning to clamber back to her feet, her eyes still glazed with the poison.

            As he was forced to march before the two demons, Diddle’s fuzzy thoughts could only focus on two things: what did all this have to do with the farm and Avon’s conspiracy with the lesser demons, and what was the contract Diddle had to fulfill?

            As they wound their way through the forest, the clouds broke open, and the light, miserable drizzle turned into a heavy, frigid downpour.

Chapter 33—Runes and Incantations

            Diddle stumbled on a tree root as he walked, falling forward against the rope that bound his wrists to Aver. The rope bit painfully into the sensitive flesh on his wrists as Aver tugged him back upright, and then he received a hearty clout across the back of his head for his trouble. He gritted his teeth against the stinging blow, determined to not admit how miserable he was.

            Since his confrontation with the butler, Diddle had found that the energy supplies sparked by surging adrenaline and fear for both Reel’s life and his own had left him. The pouring, frigid rain that leaked from the canopy of the forest trees onto Diddle’s shoulders had thoroughly chilled him through his flimsy t-shirt, and his teeth chattered softly as he plodded along down the path. His head drooped out of sheer exhaustion, and his feet dragged, prompting Aver to growl at him from time to time and jerk at the rope.

            Diddle was comforted only by the fact that he wasn’t the only miserable one in their little group. Aver, as always, seemed impervious to everything but the task before him. He walked steadily, his gleaming silver face riveted on Diddle’s back in case Diddle tried to do something stupid. Betty, on the other hand, was still suffering from the genie poison. Her feet dragged even more than Diddle’s, and once or twice he risked a glance backwards and saw that her eyes tended to droop closed from time to time. She almost tipped over altogether several times, but each time she jolted awake with a surprised snort and resumed plodding after Aver like a sleepwalker. Diddle couldn’t help but feel immensely satisfied at the sight, content that at least Nero’s last few months of imprisonment had been avenged.

Looking back in hindsight, Diddle wondered how he could have fallen for Betty’s act in the first place. She had been nice enough, but that alone couldn’t have convinced Diddle to trust her, especially considering Diddle’s friendship with bad-tempered creatures like Roemer and Charryl. If anything, Betty’s too-good-to-be-true attitude should have tipped him off from the beginning.

 No, there had been something else—something that had prompted Diddle to accept Betty’s kind, motherly personality just a little too easily. He began to wonder if there had been more to Avon’s binding spell than simply getting him to the farm. That alone was a scary thought. Even more worrisome was the next question that line of thought posed: what if the spell wasn’t done yet?

            Whether it was or not, Diddle knew he was about to find out; he, Betty and Aver were following the path Diddle had taken to find the shreek’s nest, and the only place that they could be headed was where it had all started in the first place. Diddle knew that this was where it was all going to come to a head, one way or another.

            Above the treetops, the storm clouds were gathering and piling ever higher atop one another, as if being pulled into one spot by some mighty force. Sheets of frigid rain continued to beat down on the trees, and a cold, wet, easterly wind was beginning to build. Trees groaned and rattled their leaves beneath the force of the building gale, their branches swaying violently to the point where they looked like they were about to crack.

            Diddle found himself stumbling more and more often, and the threats and blows that Aver dealt him increased respectively. By now, the back of Diddle’s head and the muscles across his shoulders were one big mess of bruises, and he didn’t’ know how long he could go on marching before he simply fell over out of sheer exhaustion.

            Fortunately, just as Diddle was considering for the tenth time how nice it would be to simply pass out in the middle of the path and take a quick nap, they broke clear of the forest. They passed through the invisible barrier, the gap that the shreeks had torn in it now seamlessly repaired. Aver, Betty and Diddle passed through it easily, as the wall was built to admit them, but as he crossed the barrier, Diddle noticed something odd about it. It wasn’t anything definite, simply a nagging feeling that something was not right.

            Then again, if all were right, the wall wouldn’t have been there in the first place.

            An instant later, Diddle passed through over the farm’s boundary and his attention was diverted as he struggled to take in all that was happening.

            Once inside the dome that the wall formed all around the farm, it seemed to Diddle as if he and the two demons had suddenly been cut off from the rest of the world. The domed wall had gone transparent, so he could see the clouds outside clustered up against the invisible wall in dark, looming heaps, and rain as it visibly sheared away from the property as if directed by the wind. Outside, the trees were beginning to sway back and forth more noticeably as the wind grew ever stronger, their leaves rattling and whipping about in the wind. Inside, the noise should have been fantastic…

            … But it was all dead silent.

            It wasn’t the stillness of summer that Diddle had known throughout his stay at the farm; there had been a breeze and the occasional sound of birdsong to break up the quiet. Now, it was as if they were within a still room. There was no wind to stir the grass, and no animals or birds to intrude on the silence, as they had all no doubt fled before the horrible force of the storm and the unnatural silence of the farm. Nothing stirred, saved for one thing that shouldn’t have been able to.

            The oak tree.

            The old, twisted hardwood tree near the end of the centaur pasture was moving in such a way that Diddle knew that, even had there been a breeze, it couldn’t be because of the wind. Its ancient boughs were twisting and turning about in the air as if alive, the leaves curling and shivering in a manner that was both unnatural and unsettling. Something within that tree had been awakened, something that would have been better off left undisturbed. There was no doubt as to who had caused that disturbance.

            A familiar tall, raven-haired figure was standing next to the tree, his left hand outstretched towards the tree while he held a worn leather book in his right. His face was tilted towards the book as if he were reading from it, and over the heavy silence that had settled upon the farm, Diddle could hear Avon’s voice rising and falling in a guttural chant in a foreign tongue.

            “It’s time you served your purpose,” Aver growled, flashing his unnatural barracuda teeth in what might have been some loose interpretation of a smile. The lesser demon gave Diddle a shove between the shoulder blades with one hand, forcing the smaller boy to stumble towards where his uncle was waiting for them.

            Avon was just finishing his chanting when Betty, Aver and Diddle drew even with him. The man’s brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips pursed as he read aloud the strange, twisting runes printed in the book before him. The sounds that emanated from his throat were deep and as unnatural as the movements of the trees, which were increasing in speed as his voice became more urgent and the words he said more violent. Diddle caught only one word amidst the twisted, archaic noises that Avon was making, and it was a word that sent a chilled shiver down his spine: Demon.

            Finally, Avon stopped. His voice seemed to peter off as if drifting from his lungs, and the tree gradually stopped moving as he slowly looked up from the book and shook his head, as if he’d been mesmerized. He seemed to suddenly realize that he wasn’t alone, and he looked up at Aver, Betty and Diddle with a small start of surprise.

            “You’re back!” he exclaimed, snapping the book shut and slinging it under one arm. He glanced momentarily at Diddle, his gaze cold and unfriendly. He frowned, obviously dismayed by something. “You only got him?”

            “The centaur got away,” Aver growled, baring his teeth in a soft, frustrated hiss. “He went towards the nest, though. He won’t be a problem to us, and may even stumble back into the shreeks and save us the trouble of hunting him down later.”

            Avon snorted. “Not that we’ll need to. With the demon awakened, a little renegade centaur like that one will mean nothing to me. I’ll have absolute control over the country once I harness its power.”

            Diddle saw something flash across Aver’s eyes. It was the only emotion other than anger that he’d ever seen in the butler’s eyes, and it was near impossible to define what it was. Needless to say, it was somehow related to what Avon had just said. Betty’s eyes were still too dulled by the poison to read anything other than fatigue, so Diddle was unable to glean any reaction from her. Avon seemed to notice then the female lesser demon’s somewhat wavery countenance.

            “What’s wrong with her?” he demanded, his frown deepening.

            “I don’t know,” Aver growled. “She can’t seem to focus on anything. She was near useless when we attempted to capture the centaur. It’s her fault that he got away.”

            Avon grunted. “So long as she can still read. Are we ready?”

            Aver nodded. “Are the centaurs still secure?”

            “Yes,” Avon replied. “The female’s finally stopped beating herself silly against the walls. I think Nero and that dog are even trapped in there as well. How the blazes he got downstairs, though, I can’t imagine.”

            Diddle groaned softly. Nero, Jyro, Roemer and the others were all trapped. Now he was stuck with his uncle and two lesser demons, and it sounded to him as if they were about to summon a demon. He needed to get out of there somehow, but his wrists were still securely bound, and in his state of exhaustion, he probably wouldn’t get far before Aver ran him down. Avon noticed him glancing around for an escape route, and the tall man gave a cold laugh of amusement.

            “No, there will be no running away for you, my nephew,” he said pleasantly. “I have plans for you, as I told you earlier. Do you see this?” He brandished the leather book, which was about as thick as Diddle’s fist and gilded with twisting gold runes on the cover. Diddle eyed it warily, his mouth pressed closed in a stubborn line as he watched his uncle through glaring eyes. Avon laughed again.

 “It is one of the ancient ritual books of the lesser demon tribes, thought to be lost after the defeat of the demons during the First Wars, only to be recovered by the scholars from the Royal Academy,” Avon said with a flourish, opening to a random page. The same twisting runes from the cover were printed there in reddish-brown ink, now cracked with age and somewhat faded around the edges. With a sickening jolt, Diddle realized that the ink was in fact blood.

            Avon grinned at Diddle’s expression. “You noticed that, did you?” he said. “Needless to say, the lesser demons were somewhat barbaric people, tending towards the somewhat crass practices of human sacrifices in the name of the true demons to which they appealed during their rituals. The one we have in mind does not involve such practices, but we do need a fourth person to complete it. That’s where you come in.”

            Diddle glared at the book, furious with himself for being caught, not only by Aver, but by Avon from the very beginning.

            The centaur ranch had been a ruse all along. Avon hadn’t really needed a farm hand, simply some dupe to nab and force into completing the summoning. Diddle had been that dupe, snared from the instant he opened that envelope. There were still a few unanswered questions, however.

            “What about Nero, Jyro and the centaurs?” Diddle asked. “Where do they fit in?”

            “You’re Nero’s replacement,” Avon said with a little heat. “He was supposed to be the fourth reader, but when he found out what I intended, he backed out. A simple binding of silence in our contract kept him from telling you everything, of course, but it seemed as if you weren’t totally free of his prejudice. The weather goddess I kept simply to ensure that the other gods did not try to interfere. With her as my hostage, they cannot mess with my plans. The centaurs served two purposes: one was to create some excuse for you to work for me. The other was to generate the wall that will contain the demon once it’s summoned.” Avon turned to Aver with a frown. “It’s secure, correct?” he asked, a touch of anxiety in his voice. Aver nodded wordlessly.

            “I assure you, the demon will have no chance of escape,” the lesser demon replied, somewhat stiffly, it seemed to Diddle. Then again, the former butler was always stiff.

            Avon nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Then let’s begin.”

            Diddle was dragged to one side of the tree and forced onto his knees, Aver standing over him with his hand on his collar. Diddle squirmed a little, trying to loosen the wire cords that bound his wrists, but Aver gave him a vicious cuff across the head and growled at him threateningly.

            Meanwhile, Betty had taken the book from Avon, though she had to strain a little to heave the heavy volume into her arms. Avon studied her carefully for a moment. Then, deciding her condition wouldn’t affect the ceremony, he moved away to stand beside Aver and Diddle. Betty flipped through the book, her eyes closed, until her fingers lit upon the right page. She opened her eyes so she could read the blood-printed runes, and then, like Avon, she began to chant.

            The words sounded even more horrible when she said them. Her voice was more guttural than Avon’s, and the words seemed to tear themselves from her throat as she swayed in time to her own chanting. Diddle couldn’t understand the words, but he sensed a deep and bitter anger in Betty’s tone that seemed to stretch way back in time to when the book itself was first written.

            The tree responded to the chant as it had with Avon’s. It began to twist and turn, more vigorously than before, the bark creaking and groaning as it swayed about in the air. Diddle noticed something else as he watched; a faint luminescence that seemed to be emanating from somewhere deep in the tree’s heartwood, radiating outward through cracks in its bark so it looked as if it were burning from within. When Betty finished her part, the tree stopped moving, but the deep, ruby glow remained, pulsing as if in time to the beat of some gargantuan heart.

            Now it was Aver’s turn. The lesser demon shoved Diddle’s collar into Avon’s hand and took Betty’s place, hoisting the book into his arms and scanning it with his eyes briefly. After a moment, he seemed to have it memorized, and he closed his eyes as he began chanting, his deep, bass voice rising and falling in time to the throbbing glow of the tree. He was, if anything, even angrier than Betty had been, and his voice broke into something like a snarl once or twice as his emotions got the best of him and his glowing yellow eyes snapped open to glare at the trembling tree before him. When he was finished, the bark of the tree was still glowing, and the limbs continued to move even after he resumed his place behind Diddle with his hand on the length of cord.

            Avon took the book from Aver and flipped through it until he found the part he was looking for. He smiled softly as he knelt down near Diddle, presenting the open page. Diddle stared at the words for a moment, then snapped his gaze away when he realized that he could understand the runes and felt his mouth moving to say the horrible, muttering words. Avon laughed.

            “You will read them,” he said, leaning closer to his nephew. “You have no choice in the matter. You will raise this demon for me, and then you will be justly rewarded for your efforts, despite your earlier attempts at revolt.”

            Diddle didn’t say anything, afraid to trust his voice not to start chanting. Instead, he spit at Avon. It was a good shot, and hit his uncle squarely between the eyes. Avon reared back, dropping the book in surprise. Diddle couldn’t help but grin. Avon glared at him for a moment, and then kicked the book closer. Aver growled warningly, but Avon ignored him.

            “Read,” Avon commanded. Diddle felt his head jerk forward against his will, and he suddenly found himself staring at the rows of bloody runes and his lips already moving to form the words. He struggled for a moment, trying to scream out obscenities, names of the ancient kings, or even math equations to prevent himself from saying what the spell was telling him to, but his voice dropped to a low chant against his will, and he began to say the final words to the summoning spell.

            The tree’s movements became frenzied, almost violent, as if physically hurt by Diddle’s words as it twisted and writhed in increasingly spasmodic circles. Diddle felt horrible as he watched it, unable to check his own voice as he rambled on in the language of the demons. He caught a couple more repetitions of the word, “demon”, and he knew he was nearing the end when the light emanating from the tree suddenly increased tenfold and it gave a shuddering groan as if it were being torn apart from the inside.

            With a resounding ‘crack!’ the tree split open from the roots up to the place where the trunk divided. Something huge and red reached up from within the depths of the tree and seized hold of the edge of the rent, tearing at the bark with claws like those of a troll. The poor tree split even further as the creature within it clawed its way out, its heavy, horned head poking above the hand; the long, hunched body following after. The remainder of the tree was eventually shredded away entirely, until all that was left was a pile of softly glowing chips of wood, which slowly lost their luster and became ordinary wood chips.

            …There was also the demon.

Chapter 34—A Slight Complication

            Something was wrong.

Diddle could see it on Avon’s face the instant the demon looked up at his uncle and gave a long, low, rumbling roar that seemed to shake the very earth. Something about the demon’s behavior was not what Avon had been expecting. Oddly enough, Aver and Betty remained unperturbed, almost smug, as if things had gone exactly how they’d planned them. Avon noticed their look, and seemed to shrink inside himself a little when he realized that he’d been betrayed somehow.

Nevertheless, he attempted to assert control over the situation, striding towards the demon and raising his voice in a blustering command.

            “Demon!” he shouted. “I am Avon, he who has summoned you!” Diddle rolled his eyes; if anyone had done any summoning, it was him.

“Bow to me, Great One, and with your power, I will conquer the country!” Avon continued. His eyes looked slightly fearful, but he visibly gained confidence as his words evoked no negative response. The demon simply regarded him curiously.

            It was a huge creature; six feet tall from foot to horn tip and nine feet long from that same horn tip to its hindquarters. Its face was vaguely humanoid, with a heavy, sloping brow and hooked nose. Its eyes glowed red like coals, and a pair of curving tusks jutted from the lower lip of its wide, black mouth. Diddle guessed that it had a skull like that of a big-horned sheep, as it sported a huge rack of curling ram’s horns that grew from the plate of bone in its forehead and curled around the back of its head. Its neck was huge, thick, and sinewy, and its body stout and well-muscled. Both its feet and hands had five claw-tipped digits, one of which served as a thumb to either balance it or help it grasp prey. The entire creature was a sort of rusty brownish-red color, with a blackish ruff off spiky fur along its neck and yellow nails. As it paced towards Diddle, Avon, Betty and Aver, Diddle thought that it looked a little like a bull, what with its heavy shoulders and narrow hindquarters. The thought didn’t reassure him.

            “Bow to me, demon!” Avon commanded. “I am your master! This wall that surrounds us binds you to my will!”

            The demon didn’t bow. Instead, it eyed Avon with the look of a cat sizing up a skinny mouse as it decided whether it was worth eating. By this point, Avon had thoroughly convinced himself that everything was going according to plan, and he didn’t flinch. Finally, the demon came to a decision.

            It gave a low, rumbling roar of annoyance and swiped at Avon with one huge, clawed fist. Avon gave a yelp of surprise, then a loud grunt as the demon’s fist smashed into his stomach and drove the wind from his lungs. He tumbled backwards into the remains of the tree, his arms flailing as he slid through the old woodchips. He gave only one attempt to get back up, and then he sank back to the ground with a pitiful moan, his hands clutching feebly at his gut. Diddle and Aver both rolled their eyes.

            “Finally,” the lesser demon growled, the corners of his mouth curling into a very unfriendly smile. “It won’t be long now before his hold over us is gone completely, and we can rule alongside the Great One as his right-hand servants!”

            Keeping his head down so as not to attract attention, Diddle began wriggling his wrists about within the confines of the wire bindings. The wires bit painfully into his skin, but he could feel his hands slowly worming their way free. He kept a careful eye on the two lesser demons.

            “Yes…” Betty murmured uncertainly, her eyes still unfocused. “Rule…good…mn…soy sauce…”

            “What is wrong with you?” Aver hissed, releasing Diddle so he could grab Betty by the shoulders and glare into her face. Betty tried to glare back at him, but she couldn’t focus her left eye.

            “So tired,” she mumbled blearily. Aver turned away in disgust as Betty swayed and then finally fell over at his feet, snoring peacefully.

            “Stupid female,” he growled. “No, you don’t.”

            Diddle yelped as Aver kicked his feet out from underneath him, forcing him back to his knees. He’d been trying to stumble to his feet without using his hands, but Aver had noticed his feeble attempts at escape and quickly put an end to them.

            “I have plans for you,” the lesser demon purred quietly, his eyes golden and dangerous as he eyed Diddle. Diddle shuddered, but kept a brave face and stared back defiantly. Aver only laughed, then straightened to face the huge, red demon.

            “My lord!” he shouted, hoisting Diddle to his feet by the collar and causing the boy to gag and stumble forwards. The demon eyed the two of them, its face unreadable.

            “I have done as you asked and weakened the wall,” Aver continued, spreading his free hand. “I have done my duty as your servant, and I now present you with your freedom.”

            The demon regarded Aver with the cold, intelligent eye of a monster. A low, guttural growl of thanks rumbled through its chest, the sound enough to make Diddle’s bones shudder.

            “…And now,” Aver continued, hoisting Diddle up by the front of his shirt with one hand. “…I present to you this sacrifice in the name of the great race of demons!”

            “Sacrifice?!” Diddle shouted, squirming in panic. Aver smacked him across the cheek, but Diddle growled and simply struggled more. “I’m not letting you turn me into demon food!” he protested indignantly.

            “Quiet, human,” Aver snarled, giving Diddle a shake that made his teeth knock together. “Be silent in the presence of the Great One!”

            “Great One my butt!” Diddle growled back, tugging at the wires around his wrists. He’d managed to loosen them somewhat, and he could almost slip his left hand all the way through. He just needed time…

            “Do not insult the lord demon!” Aver snapped, his yellow eyes flashing and the silvery scales on his face bristling. “We are far more than you humans ever were or will ever be!”

            “Oh, yeah? Then how come you guys were banished to a plane of ultimate darkness?” Diddle shot back. He was almost free…

            “A mere fluke!” Aver retorted angrily. “You did not follow the traditions of battle, and tricked the great demons! Our power should have crushed you!”

            “But it didn’t, did it?” Diddle said, wiggling his hands free of the ropes at last. “Perhaps we’re not as dumb as you stinking monster seem to think!”

            “Insolent human!” Aver growled. “I’ll—“

            Diddle didn’t let him finish his sentence. Lashing out with his feet, he caught Aver squarely in the chest in a vicious, double-footed kick. Surprised, the lesser demon stumbled, giving Diddle time enough to squirm free of his grip and drop to the ground.         

            With a snarl, Aver rounded on Diddle again, and then shrieked as the smaller boy suddenly leaped at his legs and body-slammed him in the knees. Despite his small size, Diddle was built like a coiled spring, and he knew from his mother’s anatomy posters where a person’s weak points were. He was able to sweep Aver off his feet as the tackle wrenched at the lesser demon’s kneecaps and caused his legs to fold.

            “Wretched human!” Aver roared, clawing at Diddle once the breath had returned to his lungs. He managed to snag Diddle’s left ankle with one clawed hand, and began pulling the boy in hand over hand by the leg.

            “Let go!” Diddle growled savagely, grabbing the claws with one hand and trying to force them open. Aver laughed and swatted Diddle’s hand away, the pupils of his eyes shrunk to tiny slits.

            That gave Diddle an idea.

            “Think fast, Aver!” he shouted, lurching forward.

            Aver looked up, momentarily confused.

            “Wha?—aaaaiiiieee!” he screeched, jerking backwards as Diddle’s middle and index fingers jabbed him in the eyes. Both of his clawed hands flew to his smarting eyes as he wailed in agony, tears streaming down his cheeks. Diddle was finally able to jump free.

            With Aver down, Diddle suddenly realized that the demon had been leaving him alone so far. Suspicious, he turned to where he last remembered seeing the great beast, and was surprised to find that it wasn’t paying any attention to the raging battle between him and the lesser demon. It almost seemed as if it were trying to dig a hole in the middle of the field.

            “What…?” Diddle said with a  frown, watching as the monster frantically scrabbled at the ground, its massive, heavily-muscled forearms shoveling away clumps of dirt.

            No, not dirt—something else.

            It was silvery in color, and it came away in wispy tatters that dissolved in midair as the demon flung them away. It almost looked as if the demon were digging up sheets of plastic or transparent silk…

            The wall.

            It was tearing up the magic barrier by the roots, destroying the wall at the foundations so that there was nothing to hold it in. It was trying to escape, and since Aver had weakened the wall, it could do just that.

            “No!” Diddle shouted, running at the huge monster.

            The demon looked up at Diddle, momentarily pausing in its digging. Its burning red eyes regarded the puny mortal creature charging it with a look of contempt, its lips curling back in a hideous, tusked smile.

            As Diddle came within arm’s reach, the demon gave a casual sweep of its claw, meaning to send Diddle sprawling with one blow.

            Diddle saw it coming and ducked, his feet still pounding at the ground. The demon looked surprised, and made another, lower swipe. This one Diddle avoided by dropping down into a somersault, rolling underneath the meaty arm above him and jumping back to his feet so he could keep running. Before the demon could register surprise or make a third attempt, Diddle gave a loud war cry and jumped, aiming for the center of the demon’s face.

            The demon looked just as surprised as the Wyrn shreek had, and Diddle’s tactic may have worked save for one detail: the demon’s horns.

            Out of pure reflex, the monster turned its head sideways as Diddle leaped towards it, presenting a long, sharp prong that was about to spear Diddle through the gut. Panicked, Diddle managed to twist in midair so that his stomach was no longer the target, but he was unable to save himself completely.

            His skin seemed to burn where the demon’s horn raked across his side, and he found himself flailing in panic as he tumbled uncontrollably through the air and collided with the top of the demon’s skull. The air was smashed from his lungs, and he was unable to hang on as he had with the shreek as the demon snapped its head around and flung its cling-on into the dirt.

            Diddle hit the ground hard, and lay there, his sides burning and his back bruised from his hard landing. Dimly, he was able to see the demon as it slowly advanced on him, its lip curled in annoyance so Diddle could clearly see all six inches of its huge, curved tusks.

            Strangely enough, Diddle wasn’t afraid of dying.

            It wasn’t too bad a death, at least as far as deaths went. He did regret never travelling like he’d always wanted to, or never getting to see his mom again. He also regretted that the world would probably end once he was gone, since the demon would most likely break through the magic wall and ravage the face of the earth with its darkness. He wished he could have at least gotten old enough to drink beer before that happened.

            “Oh, well,” Diddle murmured sadly. “I tried.”

            The demon snarled at him in response, and it raised its front paw, ready to crush Diddle beneath its weight and/or spear him with those huge, curling yellow claws.

Diddle sighed fatalistically and closed his eyes.

“Hey! Demon!”

Diddle frowned, his eyes still closed. That voice sounded familiar. Curious as ever, he cracked his eyes open again and turned his head sideways so he could face the source of the noise. He was met with a rather strange sight.

Eric.

The old, white-haired centaur was charging towards the demon with the wooden pitchfork clutched in his hands like a broadsword, his white tail streaming out behind him and his flashing hooves tearing at the hard-packed dirt as he ran. His face was set in a savage, warlike scowl, and his powerful arms expertly twirled the pitchfork above his head in dizzying circles as he thundered towards the demon.

            “No one…touches…YOUNG PAUL!!” he roared, launching himself over the demon’s attempt to block his charge with its arms, and bringing the pitchfork smashing down on the monster’s back with all his might.

            The force of the blow sent the demon reeling, its face twisted in shock and its legs unsteady. Unfortunately for Eric, the blow was too much for the old pitchfork, and it shattered into a dozen pieces over the demon’s back, leaving him without a weapon.

            Unfazed, the old centaur charged again, his fists swinging as he roared a long series of creative insults that could have impressed even the giben birds:

            “I’ve met granny trolls with more grit than you, you overgrown lump of lard! Why, I’ll bet that thing you call a face is so ugly because you’re too stupid to look out for trees when you walk! C’mon, pansy! I thought that was all muscle, not dough!”

            The demon made frantic attempts to beat Eric away, but the old centaur simply knocked the attempts aside and continued to batter at the demon’s head and shoulders with his fists. He probably could have succeeded in beating the demon into the ground with his bare hands, if it hadn't been for Aver.

            Amidst the fighting, Diddle had forgotten about the lesser demon. He saw the flash of silver scales out of the corner of his eye a moment too late as Aver leaped towards Eric’s back, his jagged teeth bared in a vengeful snarl.

            “Eric! Look out!” Diddle shouted.

            Eric turned, surprised, and was able to grab Aver by the wrists before the lesser demon reached his neck. Unfortunately, in doing so, he exposed his back to the demon, and gave it enough time to gather its strength.

            “Eric!” Diddle cried uselessly, still unable to rise.

            The demon swung its arm just as Eric began to turn. The blow caught the old centaur full in the chest, and he released Aver as his body went flying back into the remains of the tree. Diddle saw the centaur’s head hit a rock as he landed, and Eric had time enough to grunt in pain before his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body went limp.

            “Eric!”

            Diddle struggled to get to his feet, but the cut down his ribcage wouldn’t let him straighten without sending shoots of invisible flames up and down his side. To his horror, he saw that Aver now had his eyes set on him again, and the lesser demon’s expression told him that this time there would be no escape. Behind him, the demon began digging at the roots of the wall again, shreds of magic flying in tatters as it slowly worked its way free.

            “Anajyrosima, if you’ve got any benevolent cousins up above watching me right now, this would be a perfect time for a miracle,” Diddle muttered nervously, shuffling backwards away from Aver.

            Suddenly, it occurred to him that Eric shouldn’t have been able to come to his rescue. To do so, the old centaur would have had to break through the barriers that were protecting the stables.

            Diddle’s brain was just beginning to process the meaning of this when his prayer was answered and all hell broke loose…or at least, more so than it already had.