Free The Gateway (Harbinger of Doom Volume 1) by Glenn Thater Page A

wanted to run. He wanted to hide. He wanted
to scream. If I just bow down, perhaps I might yet live. Such a
little thing it would be, to just bow down. I could do this,
couldn’t I? to save my life. What harm would it do?
    He remembered his father. He remembered his
burning need for vengeance.
    He did not bow down. He would never bow down
before any servant of chaos.
    He would have his vengeance.
    “ I am Brother Claradon Eotrus,
Lord of Dor Eotrus,” he shouted.
    “ You killed my father; for this
you die!”
    Claradon charged forward; from the corners of
his eyes he saw that his two comrades were still with him. The
smaller fiends sprang forward, interposing themselves between their
dark Lord and the knights.
    “ Very well, petty creatures,” said
Korrgonn. “We shall feast on thy souls tonight. This world is ours
now!”
    The knights fought with incredible ferocity,
their swords and strength against the claws and fangs of the
hellish spawn of chaos. Outnumbered, the fiends pressed them back,
away from the gateway and away from Korrgonn. Through the whirl of
battle, Claradon was cut off from his comrades and fought on alone.
The mantle of holy light that enshrouded him blinded the fiends and
they shrank from it. Many turned from him and sought other victims.
This gave him a singular advantage in the wild melee and perhaps
was all that preserved his life. It also allowed him brief moments
of respite during which he caught glimpses of the deadly struggles
unfolding around him. Numerous devils were attacking his still
dazed or unconscious comrades and others engaged in duels to the
death with the knights still standing. He saw Sir Bilson’s throat
ripped out by one fiend, and young Sir Paldor’s chest slashed by
another, but the brave knight fought on. Two fiends decapitated
another knight and feasted on his corpse. Through the dim light, he
spied Sirs Conrad and Martin, awash with blood and gore, pulled
down and torn limb from limb by a group of bloodthirsty multi-armed
fiends. Then he saw Ob, fighting alone, darting here and there,
evading the claws of the beasts, no doubt cursing all the while,
several fiends stalking at his heels. It pained him that he could
do nothing to aid his comrades. It was all he could do just to stay
alive in the wild melee.

    Tanch opened his eyes and pulled himself to a
sitting position. Blood dripped from his nose and his eyes were
unfocused. The bloody corpse of a fiend lay across his legs. Just
to his left lay the corpse of one of Dor Eotrus’s knights, his
heart torn out of his chest. A few feet away, Ob was fighting
desperately with two fiends; several others already lay dead at his
feet. Ob held a sword in one hand and a glowing dagger in the other
and spun a wild dance of death about him. He thrust his sword
through the breast of a fiend but it held fast as he tried to pull
it out. As he struggled to withdraw it, he buried his short blade
in the breast of the second fiend. From out of nowhere, another
fiend appeared and clamped its devilish jaws upon Ob’s forearm. He
wailed in agony but managed to stab the thing in the throat with
his dagger. The beast fell back spouting ichor from its neck.
Slumping back against one of the pillars, the wounded gnome
struggled to wrap some cloth about his injured arm to stem the flow
of his lifeblood. As Tanch watched in horror, a six-legged fiend
with a vaguely batrachian aspect pounced on the tiny man. Par Tanch
had only a moment to act.
    “ By the Shards of Pythagorus, gek
paipcm ficcg,” said Par Tanch. Six fist-sized spheres of blue fire
appeared in the wizard’s hand, one after another, and shot at the
vile demon. The first bored into its left shoulder and exploded,
the second detonated a few inches lower, blasting off the limb
entirely. The third, fourth and fifth spheres punctured the
creature’s side and chest, the last blew a large chunk out of its
bulbous head. Its corpse collapsed at Ob’s feet.
    Sirs Paldor, Glimador, and Indigo