Free Echoes of the Fourth Magic by R. A. Salvatore

see the creatures fanning out, encircling Corbin.
    The second volley had again scared the creatures, but their leader remained calm and its strength kept the others from panic. Again there came a long, tense pause, and then the leader began an ominous chant, “Men die! Men die! Men die!”
    The trap around Corbin was firmly in place, and now the others joined in. “Men die! Men die!” Their frenzy growing with every repetition.
    Corbin recognized the suicidal violence gathering like the black clouds of a hurricane about him. “My God, I have to kill,” he told himself aloud, needing to hear the words, needing to openly face the realization. His stomach turned in protest, a scream of disgust rising in the back of his throat.
    To murder.
    Trembling, his muscles arguing with every move, he raised the rifle to his shoulder. “I don’t want to kill you,” he pleaded.
    The leader recognized the human’s weakness. It raised its arm and issued a command and the others halted immediately.
    Corbin wondered if, prayed that, his threat had worked.
    The leader’s wicked grin dispelled his hopes. It had stopped the others, Corbin realized, desiring in its blood lust to make the kill alone. It puffed out its chest and strode defiantly at its foe, apparently believing that this human would not find the courage to kill.
    Yet the beast had miscalculated. As it approached, its twisted smile widening with every step, Corbin sensed a pervading vile aura; indeed, he was nearly overwhelmedby the feeling of absolute evil emanating from the beast. His inner conflicts were suddenly resolved, for he understood at that moment that this was no unfortunate, ignorant creature. This was a monster, a demon come straight from the torments of hell. He tightened the rifle’s butt against his shoulder. “I don’t want to kill you,” he repeated, and truly he didn’t, for it was not his way to pass judgment, even obvious judgment, upon another. The beast never slowed, and Corbin growled, the flavor of righteousness on his tongue, “But I will.” And he squeezed the trigger with passion.
    Click
.
    The gun jammed.
    The creature jerked in surprise and sudden horror when Corbin unexpectedly pulled the trigger. But as it tried to regain its courage, it recognized that Corbin had a problem. Unwilling to give the human a chance at another surprise, the monster charged right in and swung mightily with its sword. Corbin deftly blocked the blow with the rifle.
    “I don’t want to fight!” he pleaded. But the beast, consumed by rage, was beyond diplomacy, was beyond even hearing the human’s words.
    It whaled away wildly at the man, each blow more savage than the previous. Corbin became a release for furies and frustrations too base and vile for him to understand.
    In hopeless desperation, he parried a few more attacks. But then, regaining its control just long enough for a slight feint, the creature evaded his defense. It howled with delight as the cruel blade gashed through flesh and muscle and shattered Corbin’s collarbone just to the left of his head. Corbin realized that he was sitting now, dropped straight to the ground by the force of the blow. Only then, as he began to understand the truth of his position, did he feel the searing pain.
    Then he watched, all too aware, as the evil beast slowly, agonizingly, withdrew the jagged blade, its edge darklystained with his lifeblood. All the while, the creature eyed Corbin, laughing, reveling in the man’s torment.
    But then, for some reason that he could not understand, Corbin no longer felt any pain, and his fear, too, had flown. All that came to him was a sudden, mystical insight into the id of the evil beast, and he pitied the thing, that it could never know the joy of goodness or of mercy. Truly, it was a damned soul. “Why?” he asked calmly as the creature began to raise its sword. Corbin offered no resistance, he just sat there and repeated. “Why?”
    The creature’s delight turned to