Fletcher recoiled from the sudden torrent of hatred, all pretense of his bravado forgotten.
As if surprised by his own outburst, Khan raked aside his long hair and stepped back. There was a mad gleam in his eye and he broke into a smile.
“Where is your demon?” he asked.
“Dead,” Fletcher replied, his mind racing. “And she took many of your demons with her.”
It made sense too: that Fletcher was alone and had no mana to create a shield of his own.
“The Canid, yes?” Khan mused. “A shame, I was hoping…”
He paused, then asked.
“Which of you has the Salamander? Is it your friend?”
He motioned in the direction that Sylva had flown. His question was casual, but he was watching Fletcher too closely.
It was all Fletcher could do not to flick his eyes to the pool of lava. Ignatius was still pulsing with mana. It was hard to think, for the demon’s consciousness was growing so large that Fletcher thought his mind would burst.
“Well?” Khan asked.
Fletcher didn’t answer, simply meeting Khan’s gaze as confidently as he could.
“No matter, I shall find it soon enough,” the orc declared.
“Why do you care? You want another of them?” Fletcher asked.
This time it was Khan’s turn to look surprised.
“We saw you with it, in the central chamber. We were hidden in the beams above you.”
Khan wrinkled his nose with irritation.
“Salamanders are my property, by birthright,” Khan growled. “It is written on the walls of our temple.”
Fletcher eyed the crack. Another blow might allow Athena to break through fast enough. The hole would be sufficient for him to shoot Blaze through. He kept the pistol still by his side and went back on the offensive.
“I have seen these carvings,” Fletcher said, layering his voice with disdain. “From what I saw, a Salamander could belong to a freak like you or a human. Not that there’s anything special about Salamanders anyway. Powerful for a level-five demon, but a Wyvern would eat one for breakfast. Or a Canid for that matter.”
“Do not speak of things you do not understand,” Khan snarled. “It is not what a Salamander is, it is what it can become.”
“You’re talking out of your arse,” Fletcher said, shrugging. “The heathen beliefs of savages.”
Khan bellowed with anger.
“Do you know what a Drake is, boy? Or a Dragon?” Khan asked, his eyes wild. “A human might be allowed to dream of controlling a Drake, the first stage in a Salamander’s metamorphosis. But the next—a Dragon. No, only one of my kind, a ‘freak’ with my summoning level could do that. This is why the prophecy foretells a Salamander as the key to victory. And now I will take them both.”
Khan was babbling, the mask gone to leave only raw insanity behind his red eyes.
“I was born to destroy your kind. We will burn your cities to the ground and salt the earth behind us. Blood will run in the streets. None shall be spared, not the infants nor the elders. We will leave Hominum a wasteland. In a hundred years, nobody will remember your race even existed.”
Fletcher ignored him. Drakes? Dragons? He had never heard those words before. They were probably the orc’s ancient gods, or some such rubbish.
It was so hard to think. Ignatius’s consciousness was huge, as if the heat of the volcano had inflated the demon’s presence. Thankfully, it had stopped growing, having filled the constraints of Fletcher’s mind. Together, they had reached some milestone, but there was another one that Fletcher could feel Ignatius desiring, far beyond what he had already achieved. Fletcher felt like his mind would shatter if they continued on.
Not that it mattered. All that mattered was that he killed Khan. Perhaps if he tried to take mana from Ignatius again, or weakened the crack with his two shots from Gale first …
As Fletcher tried to grasp his connection with Ignatius, Khan stood and sighed, his angry tirade seeming to have exhausted him. Then he grinned slyly as Fletcher’s hand strayed to his holstered pistol.
“Perhaps you would like me to widen that crack for you, Fletcher,” the orc said.
Fletcher’s eyes flicked guiltily away from the shield’s fissure, and Khan’s smile broadened. A stream of white light flowed from his long fingers, spreading another layer over the shield, until the surface was clouded white with the thickness of the sphere.
Fletcher watched Khan lift his curled fingers and slowly clench his fist. To Fletcher’s horror, the shield began to shrink, constricting and thickening as the white walls moved closer and closer. He smashed Blaze against the side, but it was as much use as punching a brick wall.
Then, something stirred in the recesses of Fletcher’s mind. Ignatius had sensed Fletcher’s panic—Athena’s consciousness seemed to be screaming, pulsing signals down her own connection with the Salamander. Ignatius was coming.
“Wait!” Fletcher shouted, pounding the slippery shield with his fists. “I’ll tell you who owns the Salamander.”
The shield stopped, though Fletcher had to hunch to stop his head from scraping the top. He could sense Ignatius swimming toward the surface, powering through the lava with furious abandon. The demon would be on them in seconds.
“Tell me,” Khan growled, his baleful eyes shining ruby-red through the opaque surface. “And I’ll make your death a quick one.”
Fletcher leaned in close until his face was inches from the orc’s own.
“Me,” Fletcher whispered.
Ignatius breached the lava in a burst of molten orange. Fletcher saw a flash of burgundy as the shield was slashed apart, felt a sinuous neck slip under his legs and heave him onto broad shoulders.
He swiveled and fired Blaze, saw the white orc jerked back by the impact of the bullet.
Then he was over the edge of the caldera and falling into empty space.
CHAPTER
16
NO. NOT FALLING. FLYING.
There were wings on either side, gliding through the air, and he could see Ignatius’s amber eyes gazing back at him. But to Fletcher’s amazement, it was an Ignatius he no longer recognized.
The demon had grown to be as large as Lysander. He had the same turtle-like beak, four legs and spiked tail as before, but his neck was longer now and he had grown two short, back-facing horns on his head. Most striking of all were the huge, leathery wings erupting from his shoulders and down his back. He was a Salamander no longer.
In shock, Fletcher turned to see the albino orc standing on the edge of the volcano’s rim, clutching a wounded shoulder as his long hair streamed behind him. Khan bellowed with hatred and raised his arm, waving on the demons that followed. The Wyverns sailed above, their mouths gaping wide with anticipation of the meal to come.