Eva studied the satyrs before her, already forming a plan of attack. Talus had returned his sword to his back. She sheathed her own and slung her shield over her back, too. But she didn’t lower her guard.
Her shield gave her a distinct advantage, and Talus had already proven himself capable in a fight. But these were no goblins. Every satyr before her bore battle scars. They had to be as formidable as Talus—more likely, even more so.
She clasped her hands together, her fingers brushing the hilt of her dagger. She was ready. At the first sign of violence, she would rush the elder and slit his throat, ending the battle before it began. But she doubted the satyrs would scatter as easily as the goblins had.
Talus stood before the elder satyr, his head slightly bowed in reverence.
“No, Pan,” he said. “Talus walks with Little-Blade now.”
“Talus?” Pan laughed. It was a low, threatening sound. “How ironic. Little-Blade…” His attention shifted to Eva. “…has given her pet a new name. Your… exploits… have not gone unnoticed. And they will not go unpunished.”
Talus stepped between Eva and Pan, his hand drifting to the hilt of his jagged sword. The satyrs answered with low growls and began to advance.
“Nevertheless,” Pan said, “it has been decided. I am the leader, and you will obey my word. You will return. You will play your flute. And you will join the hunt.”
“No,” Talus said. “I will not. I serve the King.”
The satyrs froze.
Pan threw back his head and howled with amusement.
“Nonsense,” Pan said. “The King does not accept your service.”
Talus sagged. A confused, hurt look crossed his face. Then he glanced at Eva.
“Little-Blade accepts me. It is enough.”
“So be it.” Pan sighed deeply and turned from Talus. “I have done what I can for you.” He walked toward the far doorway.
“He is yours, my Lord.”
Pan stepped through the doorway and was gone. A hush fell over the room. Mist seeped inside, carrying with it a chorus of voices—screaming, weeping, cursing, maniacal laughter. Tendrils curled toward the satyrs. They stiffened, and their eyes began to glow.
The mist coalesced into a cyclone at the center of the chamber, taking shape. An ever-shifting, liquid form. Faces surfaced and vanished. Bodies struggled to pull free. Spectres burst from the mass, circled the chamber, then plunged back into it. Thousands of lost souls. Trapped. Tormented. Waiting to inflict pain.
Legion! Old tales came rushing back, whispered by children in the dead of night about the terror that lay beneath Stupidity. There was no fighting it. No escaping it. Fear wrapped its icy fingers around Eva’s heart. Never had she felt despair like this—not before Apollyon, Cerberus, or Leviathan. Not even in the presence of the Dragon himself.
She did the only thing she could. She dropped to her knees and cried out to the King.
Strong arms seized her. Talus held her against his chest and charged the satyr warriors, head lowered, his horns driving like a battering ram. His charge caught them off guard. Several sprawled across the floor.
Talus didn’t stop. He raced for the doorway, still holding Eva like a little child.
Anguish flooded Eva’s mind. Spectres swarmed around them. Cold hands seized her. They tugged at her ankles. Clawed at Talus. A savage cry tore from his lips. He struggled on, never loosening his grip on Eva. Cradling her. Sheltering her from the terror.
He tore free and dashed for the doorway with a speed Eva hadn’t known was possible.
He set her down gently.
“Run, Little-Blade! Run!” Then he turned and strode back into the chamber.
“Talus! What in Hell are you doing?”
He stopped between two ancient columns and braced his hands between them. Eva watched helplessly as he strained with all his might.
Legion advanced toward them. Unhurried. Certain of its victory.
Talus removed his hands from the columns and reached into his satchel. He withdrew a small bag and let the satchel fall to the ground. It was the same bag he had given her on her first descent. It held the glowing herbs. The herbs she’d used to fight Cerberus. They made you less.
“No, Talus, no,” she begged.
“Go, little one,” he said. Then he swallowed the entire contents of the bag in a single gulp. His eyes turned wild, and he gave the columns a mighty shove. The columns groaned. Stone cracked. Dust rained from the ceiling.
He lifted his eyes.
“Give me strength this one time only.” It was barely a whisper.
Then the columns gave way, and the ceiling came crashing down. Eva jumped back, narrowly avoiding a slab of stone that crashed down where she’d been standing.
Eva stood dazed. The silence was deafening. Dust settled. The voices in her head were gone. And so was Talus.
She scrambled forward, climbing over the fallen stone to where Talus had stood, digging frantically through the rubble.
A curved horn. Gentle eyes. Life still lingered in them, but only barely. A slab lay across his chest. She tried to lift it, but it wouldn’t budge. She searched the debris for his hand. Found it. Held it gently in hers. The bones were shattered.
“Don’t cry, Little-Blade,” he said. He reached up feebly and brushed a tear from her cheek.
“It is a far better thing than I have ever done,” he said. “I rest now.” The light faded from his eyes.
Eva laid her hand over his eyes and closed them. Then she kissed his forehead.
“May the King receive you into His presence.”
She stood and strode into Pandemonium, bitter tears flowing unchecked.
She knew what she had to do. She slipped the necklace over her head and wrapped her fingers around the golden ring and the silver pendant.
