The molten fist exploded scant inches from Saltar’s face. The heat singed his hair and started to blister the wood panelling on the wall.
Saltar swayed out from under the creature’s fiery grasp and kicked it from the back and side to keep it off balance. The leather of Saltar’s shoe charred from even this briefest of contacts with the man of magma.
‘By the madness of Wim, what is this thing?’ Saltar sweated, now that he’d put a bit of space between him and the assailant, who had come from nowhere.
‘You’re the Battle-leader,’ the Scourge grumbled as he disentangled himself from the chair he’d collided with in getting out of the monster’s way, ‘so you tell me. Never seen the like. But it’s intent on getting a hold of you. Just as well, really, or I’d probably be dead by now.’
Rather than taking time to turn around, the incandescent rock flowed backwards and created new facial features for itself where the back of its head had been an instant before. It was on Saltar again in moments, not allowing him any real respite. If it were not for reflexes and instincts honed during countless lifetimes in battle, Saltar would have been swamped there and then. As it was, the Battle-leader himself could also move his body in near impossible ways. He adopted the elemental fighting form known as Water and swept away round the room as lava lashed after him.
Deceptive drifts and loose fluid movements found Saltar atop the ancient table along one edge of the throne room, where he kicked a vase of fresh flowers towards his attacker. Water splashed down its front, and steam and a roar of pain rose from it. However, although the red of its torso darkened momentarily, it seemed otherwise unharmed, and it certainly hadn’t slowed in its pursuit of the Battle-leader.
‘Scourge, it’s very nice to see you again and all that, especially when we thought you were lost to us, but for Shakri’s sake do something! I can’t keep this up forever.’
The Scourge, God Slayer, Consort of the Goddess of All Creation, and erstwhile Commander of the feared Guardians of the King of Dur Memnos, picked up the chair with which he’d been wrestling, hefted it at the molten creature’s head and cursed as it had no effect.
‘Look on the bright side! At least the Captain of your Guard’s stopped screaming. He was giving me a real headache. And it’s no doubt a blessing for him, as he wouldn’t want to be awake having had half his face burnt away.’
‘Thanks. That’s a great comfort, Scourge, really!’ Saltar bit back. ‘In case you hadn’t thought it through, his screams were our main hope of attracting help from elsewhere. Now, unless you’ve got something constructive to say…’
Saltar was forced to break off as lava erupted towards him. It was only by dropping flat to the table that he avoided death. Even so, a glowing gobbet fell on his tunic and immediately set it alight. He tore buttons apart with scrabbling fingers and threw the incendiary article of clothing into the creature’s shifting face. The tunic burnt to a crisp in a matter of seconds but served as distraction enough to mean its heavy fists smashed into the table rather than Saltar himself.
‘Shakri be damned!’ Saltar cried as he slipped on the shaking, polished surface of the table. His arms flew wide as he sought to keep his balance, but even water has to obey the natural law of gravity.