Chapter 16: The Maiden of Anguish

Early morning sunlight.

The warmth of a golden summer's day.

The gentle sounds of water upon stone.

And the wind, smooth and cool as silk upon his face.

Saul awoke with a jerk. For several short seconds, he blinked blearily, deep grey eyes darting from corner to corner of the deserted encampment. The lush green grass felt comfortably prickly beneath his robes. It was a while before he was aware of the gently smoking embers crackling softly at his feet; remnants of their bonfire of the previous night. But the fire was not his only source of warmth.

He shifted his gaze towards the sleeping sorceress within his arms. She looked at peace, the faintest of smiles lingering upon her face. His arm was draped about her slender waist; and upon his hand rested hers, warm and gentle.

She slept bonelessly, like a tired child. Saul found that the sight amused him somewhat; she looked so very innocent and angelic. But he had enough sense to see that she was no more an angel than he was, himself. Humankind were known, among other things, for imperfection, and he was not fool enough to deem himself, nor any other, faultless. Angels were best left within Heaven.

The rogue encampment was devoid of human life when they'd returned, wearied from the day's battle. The rogues had returned to their beloved monastery; and the encampment was but a silent, and empty stronghold. Yet it was ideal for a night of sweet, undisturbed slumber. They'd lain side by side, gazing up into the vastness of the night sky. He vaguely remembered the gentle touch of her hand upon his, and the feel of her crimson head upon his shoulder. They'd spent their time talking—and when they could speak no further, found silent companionship in one another.

As gently as he could, Saul attempted to release his hold of the sorceress, but found that he simply could not; for her fingers were entwined firmly within his. She grumbled vaguely under her breath as she stirred, then drew herself closer against him. The look upon her sleeping face made him chuckle.

What he would give to simply lean over and kiss her eyelids—to awaken her with kisses.

His thoughts were broken into as she stirred. And then, as though God had been listening to his heart's desire, her eyes fluttered open; and the confusion within the pallid blues was broken as recognition and realisation registered within the depths of her pupils. She managed a weak smile—then flushed severely as she came to notice the touch of his hand upon her abdomen. With a soft, rather mortified cough, she pulled away from his embrace, then sat up straight.

"Good morning." She murmured, running her fingers through her sleep-toussled hair. Her cheeks were burning.

Saul chuckled softly to himself, allowing himself a quick shake of his head as he got to his feet. "Good morning."

"What time is it?" Cordelia tilted her head gently to the side. And then, with a small, vague chuckle—"The encampment feels so different, somehow. I never thought I'd see it this empty."

"Me either." Saul said. He stretched his arms out over his head; and his joints shifted in place, emitting several faint, popping noises. "Sorry." He added, rather apologetically—for Cordelia was eyeing him in apparent disgust.

"Mark my words; when you've aged as much as Deckard Cain has, you'll come running to me, complaining that your joints ache." She said—but she was grinning, and rather deviously. "Then I'll laugh. At you."

"Really now?" He lifted an amused eyebrow. "You are planning on remaining by my side that long, my dear?"

She fell silent just then—and, though it could be but his imagination, Saul thought he saw her smile fading ever so slightly. Yet she recovered quickly, even managing the smallest of chuckles as she pushed herself to her feet.

"I jest." Cordelia smirked faintly—but her voice was terse. "I don't suppose I shall live that long; at least, I daren't suppose it, what with the activity we have planned for today."

"Ah, that." Saul muttered. His throat had gone rather dry. He had not forgotten—but he had little desire to traverse into the depths of the monastery again. Yet he had no choice; he had chosen his path, and there would be no turning away.

They spent their morning in rather a somber fashion, each absorbed in thoughts of their own. The severity of the battle ahead was anticipated; and though neither felt the need to speak their thoughts aloud, they knew that the other, too, was loathe to face the Maiden of Anguish. By all accounts, she sounded quite the fearsome demoness. Saul could only suppose that Cordelia was scared; yet he knew that she, like himself, was grimly determined to see the demoness finished. She bore her fear with the courage and daring of a dutious warrior; and to Saul, it was almost princesslike.

It was only all too soon that the sun reached her zenith; and it came to be that their return to the monastery could no longer be put off. They'd delayed the journey for many a good hour now, some of which were spent bathing in the crystal-clear waters of the Adura river. They'd feasted, also, upon a considerably sumptuous morn' meal of bread, pheasant, and berries. But they were silent and grim for the most part of their delay—for the threat of Andariel's shadow loomed over their minds, both conscious and subconscious.

The cathedral was to be found in a state of perpetual and impenetrable silence when first they'd returned. The day was far from ended; yet the skies had begun to darken. It was but seconds; seconds, before the rain began to fall. Crimson streaks of lightning streaked through the sky, accompanied by the harsh, echoing sounds of a furious thunder. Perhaps the Maiden of Anguish knew of their imminent arrival—and perhaps she was angered by such impudence and such audacity as shown by them.

Saul gritted his teeth; then looked towards Cordelia. She offered a vague, rather feeble smile—but reached out with her free hand to take a hold of his. But a soft cough sounded within the air—and it reverberated within the vast emptiness of the cathedral. Clearly shocked, the sorceress froze—then lowered her hand, her expression falling ever so slightly. Saul could very well understood why; the cough belonged to one he had little forbearance to confront at present.

Kashya.

They stood by the circular, descending stairwells into the monastery catacombs; the Rogues' Captain, and their Lieutenant. The former looked nothing short of edgy and tense, and her shoulders were stiff with unspoken determination—but the latter was, by far, less rigid in stature. In fact, in comparison with Kashya, Liene seemed at absolute peace with the Sanctuary. She slanted her head gently towards the druid, and towards the sorceress—but the captain seemed less inclined to show civility. Indeed, her expression was that of an angry huntress; her steely teal orbs flashing ever so slightly even as she took the sight of them in. Perhaps he was imagining things, Saul thought, but she seemed just a touch—annoyed with Cordelia. Her lips seemed thinner than ever as she inclined her head towards the sorceress; but how could that be so? Cordelia had done nothing to incense the captain so.

It was all rather puzzling to the druid—but his mind was not quite inclined to think on such a trivial matter. After all, Kashya often scowled that way. There was no reason to suppose that her expression at present was a show of animosity towards the sorceress.

"Kashya. Liene." Saul began—the silence was beginning to wear upon his already-anxious nerves. He was somewhat relieved to find the captain relaxing her limbs somewhat.

"Where were the both of you?" She said, her voice dangerously low.

Cordelia did not answer; perhaps she, too, had sensed the aura of deep hatred emanating from within the captain's being. Saul cleared his throat—then straightened. "We returned to the encampment last night. It was better suited as a place of rest. At the very least, it is very, very still and peaceful there." And then, feeling as though he'd better apologise—"I am sorry if the lack of our presence has worried you, Kashya. Rest assured it shall not happen again."

Kashya narrowed her eyes slightly, but did not retort immediately. Perhaps she knew that Liene was rolling her eyes behind her back. The sight almost made Saul chuckle—but he did not. "You are ready to face her?"

Saul shrugged, rubbing mildly at the back of his head. "It's now, or never, isn't it?" Cordelia managed the weakest of nods beside him—she seemed rather ashamed of herself, for some odd reason. Her cheeks were flushed to an extremity of crimson; but all about the twin patches of red, her face was deathly pale.

"You're scared." It was not a question—but a statement. Liene was studying him intently, her jade eyes alit with mild curiousity.

"Of course I am." Saul said, dryly. It amused him somewhat to discover that he was not at all embarrassed to admit such a thing. Gone were the days of pretencious bravado—the truth was much better a substitude for that. "I might die."

"Bite your tongue. No-one's going to die." Kashya muttered bitterly; but her eyes were fixed upon Cordelia, who seemed, very clearly, distraught under the intensity of such scrutiny—and was with rather pronounced discomfort that the latter cleared her throat, and shifted her footing somewhat timidly.

"I hope not." Cordelia had finally deigned it time to speak; yet her voice was but a low, faint murmur. She strode out from behind Saul—then made her way towards the stairs, squinting down through the dimly-lit steps. "Shouldn't we be—well, on our way?"

Her words struck some chord of amusement within the druid. He smirked; it would appear that the sorceress feared the Demoness Andariel much less than she did the rogues' captain. Her sudden display of gungho readiness to enter into the catacombs once more was proof of such a sentiment.

"Ah, yes. I daresay it is time." Saul said, rather brightly. He was quite sure that Liene had not failed to notice the false cheer in his voice, and hear the tremors of anxiety within his all-too-formal words; for her expression had changed somewhat. She seemed rather dubious of him at present. "Come, Cordelia. Let us go."

"Wait." Liene began, then reached out with her bow to block his way. "You honestly think that the two of you, alone, could defeat the Maiden of Anguish?"

Cordelia bit her lip. "Well, if we don't go at all, we'll most certainly have eliminated our chances of defeating her." She said, blandly. "But I jest. We have to defeat her by all means necessary—and even if it is just the two of us."

Liene rolled her eyes once more—then straightened, and in one, fluid motion, slung her bow over her shoulder. "Kashya and I have talked things over—and we are going to come with the two of you."

"If you will have us." Kashya added—but there was a superiority to her tone that told the druid that she knew, all too well, that they could not refuse her offer. Such a refusal would be both rude and stupid.

Cordelia seemed somewhat dismayed; but if she was, she hid her true emotions with a smile of great welcome. "I shall be glad of it." And then, aside, so that only Saul could hear, "If I die in there, there's a chance it was Kashya who killed me."

Saul almost laughed, but bit his tongue back. It would not do to offend the captain in such a circumstance. Instead, he nodded, and offered a small bow at the waist. "I, too, will be honoured by your aid."

No more was said just then. Instead, they gazed from one another—from Liene, with a rather dry sort of countenance, towards Kashya, who had her steely teal orbs fixed upon the druid. Saul, however, had eyes only for Cordelia—but she'd rolled her shoulders back into a mild shrug, and without further delay, began to descend into the gloomy darkness beneath the cathedral floors.

It was utter, complete chaos.

The stiffling heat within the final chambers of the catacombs was near overwhelming. Wall after wall of crimson and orange flames burnt bright from corner to corner—and the cracked foundation of the grey stone floors was but a pool in which the blood of thousands was collected. The corpses were many, and the stench of charred, rotting flesh drifted freely about the humidity of the horror-filled indoors.

They'd disposed of Andariel's minions with ease—they were, after all, but fledgling demons from the lower rank-classes of the hell-spawned clans. It was but several seconds before their broken bodies fell amongst those of Life—but they were hurriedly, and unceremoniously kicked into the aforementioned pool of blood. And then, there were but the doors—the double doors into the lair of Andariel, which were carved of teak and ash. But the shine of their lacquer had been long faded with time and use; they were naught but barriers now.

"This is it." Kashya grunted, running her sleeve across her mouth; it came away bloody, but she ignored the crimson stains. "She lies just beyond these doors."

"She will know that we are here." Cordelia muttered. Saul noted, with grim admiration, that she sounded less ready to flee. In fact, there was a steely resolve in her eyes that was not unlike that of Kashya's.

Liene nodded faintly. Her knuckles were white—for, gripping her bow as hard as she was, had drained her hand of blood. She was silent.

"I have no doubt of that." Saul said. He gazed towards Cordelia, who nodded, though it was almost unnoticeable; so minute was the magnitude of the movement. But, he took several steps towards the sorceress, then leaned into her ear. "I'll look after you." He whispered. "Don't worry."

Cordelia seemed somewhat cheered by his words—for several short seconds, at the very least, a weak smile graced her lips. But Kashya had coughed—and Saul thought he saw a trace of envious hatred within the teal orbs. And it was thus that Cordelia drew away from him, her jaw taut.

"Come now. We have no time for words." Liene began. She pulled an arrow from within her quiver; then drew her bowstring, notching the arrow as she did so.

Saul nodded—then stepped towards the doors. He took but several short seconds to breathe; and on the count of three, kicked, hard, upon the ancient ash—and the doors fell away as he found himself suddenly, and dangerously ingulfed within spontaneous bursts of poisonous flames. The dust had barely cleared away, when the ear-splitting shriek pierced the air—and it was a cry of feral rage.

The Maiden of Anguish was upon them.

"Now, you shall die, maggots!"

The rancid bursts of dark green flames could be described in but one word; overwhelming. It was accursed fire; a fire sired within Hell. It was tainted—poisonous. Its fumes were emerald; a toxic sight to behold.

Fire had been the element of her choosing—yet why was she now frightened of it? Could she not generate the heat of a million stars within the very palm of her hand? But this fire; this alien, green fire frightened her. Surely, it would ravage her whole; mind, body, and soul, should it seek to kill.

Yet the accursed fire was the least of her worries.

Cordelia never saw the motion of the metallic pincers; but her ears were true. She could hear the sharp pattering of pointed feet upon the ground—and had only just enough strength in her to bite her tongue down, swallowing the scream that threatened to erupt from within her throat.

The Maiden of Anguish stood to a height of about twice that of the sorceress's. Long, stringy hair the colour of blood cascaded down her the length of her bare back—but upon closer inspection, Cordelia saw that they were, in fact, serpents; great, crimson beasts with fangs of silvery-blue. Her eyes were but hues lighter than her hair—a mix of red, orange, and amber, and they were narrowed into mere slits; burning bright with all the hatred of Hell.

Yet there was but one anomaly about the demoness that caught the sorceress's eye. It was not the fact that she had chosen to ignore the uses of armor; nor that she was nude, save for the blood-stained loincloth wrapped firmly about her waist. It was not even the appalling display of live serpents upon her head.

The anomaly that drew the sorceress's eyes, and fear, was that Andariel was, in fact, a demoness in the form of a spider.

And it was thus that Cordelia found herself rooted to the ground in fear—for her dread of spiders was great. To suddenly find herself in the presence of one of this size brought her to new heights of nausea; and, worsening the situation was the fact that her heart was thumping heavily against her throat. She thought she could hear Saul calling out to her—but his voice was muffled, and vague, as though it were echoing through space and time. But she knew that he was closer than he seemed; and with superhuman effort, tore her eyes from the rearing demoness, and just in the nick of time jumped aside, evading a slick, sweeping blow in the form of a sharp-bladed pincer.

Her reverie broken, the sorceress now set herself about in motion. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Saul deep in concentration. The druid had his staff held out towards the demoness—and every once in a while, when she saw fit to assult him, he would duck; narrowly avoiding what were surely blows of death. Kashya stood a distance away, her eyebrows knitted together with deliberation as she fired arrow after arrow in rapid succession towards the demoness. Liene, likewise, stood to a corner—but her arrows were imbued with ice, in a stark contrast against the fire-imbued ones of the Captain's.

Move! Do not, under any circumstances remain stationary in battle; for your enemy will then find opportunity to strike you down!

Cordelia gasped—then lifted her staff. The words were that of her Medjai-mentor; and they resounded within the back of her subconscious mind even as she danced about the sharp-bladed pincers of the demoness.

But Andariel was not to be thwarted thus easily; and with an ear-splitting screech, launched herself into the air and advanced, instead, upon Saul, clicking her pincers furiously. And the serpents upon her head were hissing; they, too, were hungry for blood.

"Don't come over here! I can handle it!" Saul cried out towards the sorceress as he parried a blow of the steel pincer with his staff. And even as the demoness leaned towards him, he raised his dagger—and in a single stroke, drew blood.

The very foundations of the catacombs shook as Andariel reared back; and the shrill shriek of fury from within her throat very nearly brought Cordelia to her knees. But she grit her teeth—and, whispering the words of magic, flung several orbs of bright orange flames towards the demoness; and was somewhat bolstered when they found their target in explosions of gold and red.

But her relief was short-lived, for, with yet another glass-shattering shriek, Andariel struck once more—and it was none other than Saul, who stood in her attack range. With deadly speed and accuracy, she reared backwards; then drove the tip of her pincer into the side of his abdomen. And his cry of shock and pain was lost beneath the combined shrieks of Kashya and Liene—and almost unceremoniously, was thrown into the crumbling, blood-stained wall behind him.

"No!"

"Saul!"

Cordelia stood in silent wonder—so intense was the chill of the ice in her throat, and so heavy was the thundering of her heart within her chest. She could not scream; fear had overcome her entire being. Yet several seconds later, amazingly, the druid stirred; and, weakly, pushed himself into a seating position. His eyes were somewhat out of focus as he gazed from sorceress to demoness.

"Cordelia—" His lips had barely moved, but she heard it loud and clear; a low murmur, laced with mingled fear and pain. It almost broke her heart to see the druid in such a fashion—but there simply was no time to succumb to emotions, whether they were joy for his survival, or sadness for his fear.

Andariel was on the move again, her pincers making sharp, hissing sounds upon the ground as she scuttled towards the motionless druid. Arrow after arrow pierced her back—for Kashya and Liene were busy at work; but she did not notice. So intent was she on the ending of the druid.

Saul! Do not let the demoness reach him!

Cordelia could not quite understand the sudden spurt of energy within her limbs; but it was in one swift movement, that she'd lifted her arms and cried out to the heavens. And from beneath the very cracks of the stone floors came the flames; but they were flames in the favour of light, forming a wall, a barrier between the demoness and her prey.

The sudden brightness within the chambers was registered as the demoness reared, once more, upon her pincers. The earth rumbled once more, as she turned her crimson eyes upon the sorceress, and, quite without warning, pounced. Cordelia gasped, then flung her hands over her eyes as the ground beneath her crumbled; but she did not fall. The demoness was nearly upon her—and her pincers, so very sharp, were raised at the ready. Any second now, she would fall—and there would be no more light.

Death.

But the blow did not come.

Andariel had, once again, changed course—but this time, it was Liene that she'd chosen to assault. A fresh arrow had pierced the nape of her neck; and it was a result of one of the lieutenant's ice-imbued attacks. She ducked blow after blow, using her bow to parry attacks that she could find no time to dodge. Her movements were but defensive now.

She will not last long—she will tire!

Saul had gotten to his feet—and his eyes were narrowed as he held his staff towards the demoness. And from within the emerald jewel headpiece of the staff burst seven twisters; but they were no threat to the demoness, for they were quite easily disposed of with several waves of her metal pincers. It was in such a fashion that she deflected many the captain's arrows—and those which struck their aim were but little concern to her.

"Augh!" Liene's cry was almost a piteous wail—beads of perspiration had formed upon her face, and she shook with weariness. Yet, she did not relent; nor did she flee.

Cordelia was only mildly aware that she'd lifted her hands—and it was but several seconds later when the bright balls of flame came into contact with the demoness's bare back. But she did not cease her assault of her lieutenant-prey; and, in a single, swift movement, swept the sorceress off her feet into a wall of splintered barrels. Only vaguely did she feel the sharp sting of metal against her right arm—but the pain was minimal, compared to that of the impact of the splinters and nails against her skin.

The sorceress neither heard the cries of her companions; nor did the situation register within her head. It was several moments later before she became fully aware of herself—but she could not move her arm. In the dimly lit atmosphere of the chamber, she could only just see the tell-tale wisps of poisonous bile within the vein-lines of her arms. Paralysis had taken effect.

"Kashya—to the left!" The druid was yelling at the top of his lungs; but Cordelia could hear the despair within his voice. But she'd caught his eye, and as grey met blue, a grim sort of understanding passed between them.

It would truly be a fight to the death.

"—Liene!"

The cries that filled the air were muted to the sorceress as she struggled to regain full consciousness. But she could hear snippets of cries—but they were not in favour of her anxiety. Her head was swimming—but she pushed herself to her feet, and only just in time to hear a yelp of shock, and a cry of despair. Before she knew it, the air about her had exploded; and the ground began to rumble once more as an avalanche of rock and stone crumbled over her already-weakened form.

"Saul! SAUL!"

A warm hand found hers—and for several short moments, Cordelia imagined that the battle might have ended. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was over; over, at last. But it was not to be.

They were buried; buried beneath the pile of broken rock and stone. Saul lay beside her—a large boulder sat upon his chest, and his face was blue from lack of air. But, with almost superhuman effort, he shifted the rock aside—then cried out, in a voice both raspy and worn—

"Help Liene! We'll be fine!"

The sorceress took several deep breaths, ignoring the steady flow of blood along the side of her cheek as she attempted to push herself free of the rubble—and the tall, bloodied figure of Kashya swam in and out of focus as she struggled. But even she, in her semi-conscious state, could not ignore the cry of terror and pain that then filled the chamber. And the soft, squealching sound of splattering blood filled the air as the gift of sight was finally returned to her.

But it was too late.

Liene's eyes were widened in horror—but they were lifeless, and the light had died from within the deep green depth; she was left to crumple onto the ground, onto the splintered shards of what was once her bow. It was then clear that the lieutenant of the rogues was finally, irrevocably, defeated.

Kashya was the first to recover from shock. She no longer hesitated—but shot arrow, after arrow of grief and rage towards the demoness, unrelenting and merciless. For she was fueled, now, by the demise of her sister—and there would be no pity for the demoness of hell. She fired, again, and again—and then again, until it was nigh impossible for the demoness to ignore the hailstorm of fire-laced arrows. It seemed all but too easy; but it was with a single flick of her pincer that she'd sent the captain flying backwards into the pool of blood.

"Kashya!"

Had she cried out? She was not aware of it—and yet, there it was. Her voice, her own voice, was ringing within the chamber; but in crying out, she'd once more caught hold of the demoness's attention.

Surely, now, she would be the prey.

A silent shudder coursed along the length of her spine—and she could feel the druid stiffen beside her. But his eyes were fixed upon the pallid, prone form; the shell that had once housed the soul of the rogues' lieutenant.

But there was simply no time to dwell upon such matters. She squeezed gently upon his fingers—and, to her greatest relief, he turned to meet her gaze. And then, with a small, grim nod, he pushed himself to his feet; and, quite before she'd had the chance to suggest otherwise, charged towards the Maiden of Anguish with both his staff, and blade held before him.

"Saul, don't—" Cordelia cried out, even as she struggled against the weight of the rubble upon her abdomen. It seemed a quest somewhat impossible, at present, to bring the demoness down.

But Andariel was panting—and it was clear that she was wearied. Yet, with an almost lazy flick of her pincer, she'd sent the druid crashing into the ground. For several short seconds, he lay limp by Liene's broken body; and though his chest rose and fell with harsh and ragged breaths, the demoness persued him no longer.

Instead, Andariel turned her head ever so slightly—and, with her eyes of crimson, stared, rather triumphantly, into those of the sorceress's. And her voice was but a low hiss as she said, "Checkmate."

Cordelia could feel the rapid beating of her heart within her throat—but it was not from fear. What, now, was this new sensation creeping into her veins? It hit her, precisely then, that it was but weariness that filled her body. She was no longer frightened—nor was she nauseous. But if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that she wanted to live. At least, live just long enough to see the end of the enemy.

She was not entirely sure how she'd managed—for, never before had she succeeded in the most articulate art of teleportation. But in the blink of an eye, she'd felt the boulder upon her abdomen shift—and half a second later, found herself standing upright upon solid ground once more. And, in her determination, her movements seemed somewhat effortless. She reached into her boot—then drew from the sheath within the Countess's gem-encrusted dagger.

How fitting that such a weapon should be the end of the darkness upon Entsteig.

With such a thought in mind, Cordelia concentrated once more—and the ground melted away from beneath her feet, and before she knew it, she was airborne; and Andariel stood beneath her, crimson eyes widened with unspoken fear, and metallic pincers held at the ready. But for the second time in so short a span, the demoness's aim was false; and she crumbled to the ground with the sorceress's blade in her throat.

Cordelia was only faintly aware of the ground shaking beneath her. The world began to swim in a blur of colours once more as her legs gave way; and she succumbed to the darkness, with full knowledge that, at the very least, the Maiden of Anguished had at last been defeated.

Author's note: Damn my writer's block. This is the first and last time I write a fight scene with FOUR people in it. Honestly, I swear I was looking for trouble when I brought Kashya and Liene into the mix. I am SO sorry, if this fight scene was confusing. I nearly died trying to write it. And almost, almost burst into tears, too.

As per usual, thanks go out to Ophelion: Thanks for always been a source of gore-inspiration, even if you don't know it. And then to Virali, who's made my day with yet another review. And also, to BloodHeron! I'm so glad you didn't decide to stop with an alert! Thank you, thank you! You've no idea how much reviews mean to me; especially when I spend hours slogging over my fic and all!

Thanks again! And please, please, pretty please with sugar on top, review me! (Yes, you non-reviewers! I KNOW you're out there!) Look out, also, for the next chapter (which is going to be a minichapter)—Chapter 17: In Marble Entombed!

Emmy signing off for now! Ta!