Laurie circled around the melee, looking for an opening, his sword pointed like a dagger. Catching sight of Jimmy as the thief bolted toward the door, Laurie shouted, “Arutha! Jimmy shows uncommon good sense. Leave!” Then he thrust with his sword and a low, chilling moan came from within the jumble of bodies.
Arutha was gripped by indecision. The mass seemed to be inching toward him, as if the weight of the guards served only to slow the creature’s progress. The creature’s voice rang out. “Flee, if you will, Lord of the West, but you shall never find refuge from my servants.” As if gifted by some additional surge of power, the moredhel heaved mightily and the guards were cast aside. They crashed into those standing before the High Priestess, and for a moment the creature was free to stand upright. Now it was covered in blood, its face a mask of bleeding wounds. Torn flesh hung from one cheek, transforming the moredhel’s face into a permanent, baleful grin. One guard managed to rise and shatter the creature’s right arm with a sword blow. It spun and tore the man’s throat out with a single rake of its hand. With its right arm dangling uselessly at its side, the moredhel spoke through loose, rubbery lips, its voice a bubbling, wet noise. “I feed on death! Come! I shall feed on yours!”
Two soldiers jumped upon the moredhel from behind, driving it to the floor once more, before Arutha. Ignoring the guards, the creature clawed toward the Prince, its good arm outstretched, fingers hooked like a claw. More guards leaped upon it, and Arutha darted forward, driving his sword through the creature’s shoulder, deep into its back. The monstrous figure shuddered briefly, then resumed its forward motion.
Like some giant, obscene crab, the mass of bodies inched slowly toward the Prince. The activities of the guards increased, as if they would protect Arutha by literally tearing the creature to shreds. Arutha took a step back, his reluctance to flee slowly overbalanced by the refusal of the moredhel to be stopped. With a cry, a soldier was tossed away, to land hard, his head striking the stone floor with an audible crack. Another shouted, “Highness, it grows in strength!” A third screamed as he had an eye clawed out by the frantic creature. With a titanic heave, it tossed the remaining soldiers away and rose, with no one between itself and Arutha.
Laurie tugged at Arutha’s left sleeve, leading the Prince slowly toward the door. They walked sideways, never taking their eyes from the loathsome creature, while it stood swaying upon its feet. Its sightless eyes followed the two men, glaring from a skull rendered a pulpy red mask devoid of recognizable features. One of the High Priestess’s guards charged the creature from behind, and without looking, the moredhel lashed backward with its right hand and crushed the man’s skull with a single blow.
Laurie cried, “It has the use of its arm once more! It’s healing itself!” The creature was upon them in a leap. Suddenly Arutha felt himself going down as someone shoved him aside. In a blur of images, Arutha saw Laurie ducking away from the blow that would have torn Arutha’s head from his shoulders. Arutha rolled away and came to his feet beside Jimmy the Hand. The boy had knocked him out of harm’s way. Beyond Jimmy, Arutha could see Father Nathan.
The bull-necked priest approached the monster, his left hand held upright, palm forward. The creature somehow sensed the priest’s approach, for it turned its attention from Arutha and spun to face Nathan.
The center of Nathan’s hand began to glow, then shine with a fierce white light that cast a visible beam upon the moredhel, which stood transfixed. From its torn lips a low moan was emitted. Then Nathan began to chant.
A high shriek erupted from the moredhel, and it cowered, covering sightless eyes from the glare of Nathan’s mystic light. Its voice could be heard, low and bubbling. “It burns . . . it burns!” The stocky cleric took a step forward, forcing the creature to shamble backward. The thing looked nothing mortal, bleeding thick, nearly coagulated blood from a hundred wounds, large pieces of flesh and clothing dangling from its form. It hunkered lower and cried out, “I burn!”