Even as his eyes met theirs across the gulf of air, so he picked up something of Shaithis’s telepathic ranting: You and your damned magic, you ordure of the hell-lands!
Harry was distracted; he’d looked into the scarlet eyes of Shaitan, too, and the Fallen One had looked burningly into his. No hatred in the mind of that great leech, no, not for the Necroscope; only an intense curiosity. Save your curses, he told Shaithis. For this one might yet do us great harm. Then you’ll have real reason to curse him. And Harry heard that, too.
Down below, the trio of confused warriors had untangled themselves; their propulsors roared as they commenced climbing again. Two of you, Shaithis called to them. To me, and hurry! But to the third warrior: Get after the woman. You know what to do . . .
Slimy bastard thing! Harry hurled the thought at Shaithis before realizing it was no great insult. He looked for Karen’s flyer and saw it turn out of the rising spiral to follow the mountains east. A pair of warriors – one of which was her own wounded creature – spurted in her wake; they clashed sporadically, fiercely in the sky. Karen’s warrior was getting the worst of it, but her flyer was gaining time and distance. For the moment Harry seemed to have lost the giant warrior.
Chancing that Karen was in no immediate danger, he clung to the scales of his monstrous mount and sent it spurting head-on at his enemies. They turned tail and sped out over Starside’s plain of boulders, heading roughly towards the broken aeries of the Wamphyri. Now it became apparent that their flyers had the advantage of speed in level flight; seeing that he couldn’t hope to catch them this way, Harry conjured a door and guided his warrior through it –
– And emerged directly above the flyers where they streamlined themselves and winged east. Shaithis heard the warrior’s howling propulsors, felt its shadow on his back and looked up. The Necroscope’s grin was scarlet, furious, as he slammed his mount down on Shaithis’s flyer and tried to crush him in his saddle. His target at once hurled himself flat in the hollow of his mount’s shoulders. Harry’s warrior extended grapples, pincers, retractable jaws, began cutting the flyer to pieces in mid-air; its razor-sharp appendages came dangerously close to Shaithis where he squirmed for his life. Dripping the blood of its torn victim, Harry’s warrior lifted up a little, again dashed all of its bulk down on the flyer. And slipping from his saddle to hang from its trappings in the scarlet rain, Shaithis knew his beast was a goner.
Shaitan! he cried out where he dangled.
The great leech flew slightly below and to one side. Jump! he advised, passing directly underneath. Shaithis made to leap for his ancestor’s flyer . . . was thrown off course as for the third time Harry’s warrior crashed down on to his mount’s back, breaking it. And tumbling past Shaitan, Shaithis found himself in free fall.
It was a while since Shaithis had flown in his own right, but he was in fine fettle and had more than sufficient height. His loose clothes ripped as he flattened himself into a prehistoric, pterodactyl airfoil, and gradually his plummet slowed to a glide. Far to the east he spied a glowing beacon down on the boulder plain and knew it for the Gate to the hell-lands. It made a good marker and he aimed himself in that direction.
The Necroscope had lost him. A dark speck in a darker sky, Shaithis had vanished. But Shaitan remained to be dealt with. Meanwhile, that immemorial father of vampires had drawn ahead; Harry could cover the same distance in the time it took to conjure an equation. He made to do so … and his warrior was hit from behind! The shock almost tore him loose from the plates of his mount’s back. Behind him, that most monstrous warrior of all gripped his creature in crab claws and tore out great chunks of meat from the musculature of its sputtering propulsive vents. Shaitan’s other creatures stayed well back to let their far more monstrous cousin get on with its work.