“She shouldn’t be used that way,” I said. “Let’s take her away from both of them.”
“I agree with your feelings,” he stated. “But what if we succeed? I don’t really care to be struck by a meteor or transported to the bottom of the nearest ocean.”
“As near as I can tell, the spikard doesn’t draw its power from the Pattern or the Logrus. Its sources are scattered through Shadow.”
“So? I’m sure it’s not a match for either one, let alone both.”
“No, but I can use it to start an evasion course. They’ll be getting in each other’s way if they decide to pursue us.”
“But eventually they’d find us, wouldn’t they?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” I said. “I have some ideas, but we’re running out of time.”
“Dalt, did you hear all that?” Luke asked.
“I did,” Dalt replied.
“If you want out, now’s your chance.”
“And miss an opportunity to twist the Unicorn’s tail?” he said. “Keep riding!”
We did, and the shouts grew louder as we raced ahead. There was a certain timeless feeling to it, though-with the muffled sounds and the dimness-as if we had always been riding here and always would be….
Then we rounded a bend and I saw the top of the tower in the distance, heard more shouts. We slowed as we came to the next turn, advancing more cautiously, working our way through a small stand of black saplings.
Finally, we halted, dismounted, worked our way forward on foot. We pushed aside the final screening branches and looked down a slight slope to a blackened, sandy plain beside a three-story gray tower with slit windows and a narrow entranceway. It took a while to sort out the tableau at its base.
There were two demon-formed individuals standing to either side of the tower’s entrance. They were armed and their attention seemed focused upon the contest taking place on the sands before them. Familiar figures stood at the far end of this impromptu arena and at either side: Benedict stroked his chin, expressionless; Eric hunkered and smiled; Caine juggled, flipped, palmed, and passed a dagger, reflexively, through some private routine, an expression of amused fascination on his face. From the tower’s top, I suddenly noted, two horned demons leaned forward, their gazes as intent as those of Amber’s Pattern ghosts.
At the circle’s center Gerard faced a demon-formed son of Hendrake, of his own height and greater girth. It looked to be Chinaway himself, who was said to have a collection of over two hundred skulls of those he’d dispatched. I preferred Gerard’s collection of a thousand or so mugs, steins, and drinking horns, but your ghost will walk, you lover of trees, in an English lane, if you know what I mean.
Both were stripped to the waist, and from the scuffed-up condition of the sands about them I guessed they had been at it for some time. Chinaway tried to trip Gerard just then, who caught his arm and head as he stepped behind him, and sent him cartwheeling away. The demon lord came up on his feet, however, and immediately advanced once again, arms extended, hands weaving a sinuous pattern before him. Gerard simply waited in a ready position. Chinaway stabbed taloned fingers toward Gerard’s eyes and hooked a blow against his rib cage. Gerard caught hold of his shoulder, however, as Chinaway dropped and caught him about the thigh.
“Let’s wait,” Dalt said softly. “I want to watch.” Luke and I both nodded as Gerard locked Chinaway’s head and Chinaway wrapped his other arm about Gerard’s waist. Then they simply stood there, muscles bulging beneath two hides, one pale and smooth, the other red and scaly. Their lungs worked like bellows.
“I assume the thing’s been dragging out,” Luke whispered, “and they decided to settle it champion against champion.”
“Looks that way,” I said.
“Coral must be inside then, wouldn’t you think?”
“Wait a minute.”
I ran a quick probe into the structure, locating two people within. I nodded then.
“Her and a single guard, I’d say.”
Gerard and Chinaway still stood like statues.
“Now might be the best time to grab Coral,” Luke said, “while everybody’s watching the fight.”