They made their way down the steep path towards the blistering shore.

  Chapter sixty

  TEX LED THE way over the red landscape towards the river. Flakes of ash floated in the air like snow as he surveyed the rocky shore.

  Some demons had taken notice of the newcomers. They gesticulated towards them, grimacing, laughing, screaming, and flapping their wings.

  Tex suddenly noticed a figure that was different from the others. It wore a baggy cloak, and a hood concealed its head. Its bony hand clutched a long pole.

  “That’s odd. I didn’t notice that guy standing there until now.”

  Emi’s eyes searched the shore. She drew in a breath. “It’s the ferryman! He can take us to the other side.”

  “Really?” Tex said, suddenly noticing a rickety boat sitting in the shallows of the lava river. How it didn’t catch fire was a mystery.

  “Well, it’s probably a safer bet than flying,” Tex muttered.

  “Don’t worry,” Emi said. “His entire purpose is to ferry people across the river.”

  “Alright, let’s hope he’s good at his job. Come on.”

  Giving the cloaked figure a wary look, Tex walked down the shore towards it, sweat dripping down his temples.

  The figure stood motionless.

  Tex cleared his throat. “Er, excuse me. We’d like to cross to the other side. Could you possibly— ”

  “I am Nozphinnigan!” the cloaked figure said, impressively. “The ferryman of this river.”

  He swept his skeletal hand towards the fiery river in a grand gesture.

  Tex cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, that’s what we figured. Listen, you think you could—”

  Emi jabbed Tex with her elbow. “Tex, don’t be so rude,” she hissed.

  Tex frowned. “Was I rude?” he breathed, glancing at the ferryman. Oddly, the heavily cloaked figure did seem to bristle with offended pride.

  “Yes!” Emi said. “You’re speaking in the most vulgar form of Elvish. That’s far too familiar.”

  Tex sighed. “Well, maybe you should talk to him. You’re better at that sort of—”

  Tex noticed the ferryman was becoming transparent, fading from view, along with his boat.

  “You shall not cross this river,” the ferryman said, still fading. “Return to the world of the living, where you belong.”

  “Wait, kind Sir!” Tex blurted out. “I have acted in a most scandalous and … and beastly manner. And for that, I humbly beg thy forgiveness.”

  He bowed low.

  “It’s working,” Emi whispered. “Keep going.”

  Peeking up, Tex saw that Nozphinnigan had reversed his disappearing act, and he was slowly becoming more substantial.

  That was encouraging. Maybe Tex was getting better at courtly talk. He had spent a bit of time practicing since returning from Shayla’s island.

  Looks like the practice paid off.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Er, I did not intend to heap contumely upon your — I mean thy! — most venerable head, kind Sir, by way of neglecting the decorum that is fit and meet for one who occupies such an honorable position as yourself — thyself!”

  Nozphinnigan fully regained his substance, but he was tapping his foot impatiently.

  “That’s all very well,” he said pompously. “But I simply shan’t take you across. It wouldn’t be proper because you don’t belong here.”

  “Uh, I beg your pardon, kind Sir,” Tex said, trying not to lose his temper. “Thine anger is most just, given the way I initially addressed you, however—”

  “Very well, then! We are in agreement. Be gone with you.” The ferryman waved his bony hand.

  “But it was not what I intended!” Tex said hurriedly. “It’s just that…I feel as if I already know you, because … well, thou art kind of famous.”

  Nozphinnigan suddenly tilted his head back, partially revealing a ghastly skeleton face. “I am?” he said in surprise.

  Tex recoiled at the sight of the grinning skull beneath the hood. But he quickly recovered himself.

  “Uh, yes, indeed! Thy name is known far and wide, for we have an entire epic poem dedicated to thee.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes! It’s by our greatest poet… Bip.”

  Nozphinnigan crossed his arms. “Rehearse some verses. I should very much like to hear it.”

  For an instant, Tex almost panicked. Luckily, however, Emi knew much of Bip’s poem by heart.

  She was able to recite the part where the poet describes his encounter with the ferryman.

  It was unclear whether Nozphinnigan recognized the events described in the poem. Moreover, Bip’s depiction of him wasn’t exactly flattering. But Nozphinnigan seemed extraordinarily pleased, nevertheless.

  “Well, I supposed I could take you across,” he said. “But hurry up and get in before I change my mind.”

  Walking onto a stone that jutted out into the river, Tex climbed into the boat. Emi and Bmimi followed.

  Tex watched Nozphinnigan, wondering how he would manage climbing into the boat with his long cloak. However, in the blink of an eye, the ferryman was standing in the boat.

  He put his pole into the river and pushed offshore.

  Demons flapped overhead as the boat floated towards the other side of the river.

  At length, they reached the bank, a short walk from the high stone pillars. Disembarking, Tex bowed and gave his thanks.

  As he did so, he noticed the hellhound sitting on the opposite shore, watching them.

  Tex rolled his eyes. “Now he shows up.”

  He turned and hurried past the pillars, entering through the door.

  ***

  Entering the door, they came into a hallway where torches burned in sconces. There was even a red carpet on the floor.

  “This is not what I expected,” Tex said.

  “Neesha is here!” Emi said excitedly.

  They ran down the hallway, passing a staircase.

  “Wait,” Emi said. “She’s down these stairs.”

  Following the winding stone staircase, they came into what looked like a dungeon.

  Except it was furnished with a large dining table with candles and dinnerware on it. There was also a raised platform, at the top of which was an ornate, red-cushioned chair.

  Sitting in this chair was Bankim.

  Or rather, it was the thing that Bankim had become.

  He still wore the same animal skin wrap. His frame was still tall and strong, and he still had that same pronounced jawline, and the same impatient eyes.

  But his youthful good looks had vanished. Not that this was surprising: death has a way of changing one’s appearance. But it was more than that.

  The Underworld had already taken a toll, even though he’d been there a short time.

  His face was scarred and burned, his skin ashen and ghoulish. But most of all, he’d developed the permanent scowl of all who live in the Underworld, his lips habitually curling with resentment and bitterness.

  Sitting on a chair by the wall was Neesha. Her ankles were shackled to the wall. She sat with her shoulders slouched, hands on her knees, staring at the ground with utter dejection.

  It was a heartbreaking sight.

  “Neesha!” Tex bellowed as he charged through the door.

  The elf raised her head wearily. “T-tex?”

  “Neesha!” Emi cried, and ran towards her.

  But Bankim lurched to his feet and raised his hand.

  “Stop!” he said furiously.

  Noises came from the hallway above. Scratching and fluttering noises drifted down the stairway.

  Something was coming.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, holes opened in the walls, and several more undead emerged. Tex recognized one of them as another of the other bachelors who’d been taken by the demons.

  But the others were ghoulified beyond recognition.

  The scraping of claws sounded on the stone stairway behind them. Tex took Emi and Bmimi in his arms, protectively moving them away from the door.

  A massive demon emerged, with a shaggy mane and insectile legs. A clump of glassy eyes shone above dripping teeth.

  “Thought you could take away my prize, did you?” Bankim said, clenching his fists.

  “You don’t get a prize, Bankim,” Tex said, pointing his axe at him. “We already had a duel, remember? You lost.”

  Not that there was any doubt Bankim remembered. That memory consumed him, and it showed.

  Bankim forced a laugh. “Those are bold words for a man in the pit of hell, surrounded by enemies. Aramantha rules don’t apply down here. I’m the ruler — you will learn that quick.”

  Tex scoffed. “The ruler of what?”

  Bankim puffed his chest out. “Ruler of the undead! I made a deal, fair and square.” His eyes fixed on Tex’s axe. “It was rude of you to bring arms into my abode.”

  Bankim raised his hand and Tex felt an invisible force pulling on it. Tex tightened his grip, but the wood beneath the axehead made a loud crack!

  Bankim chuckled as Tex looked at the axe; a huge split ran down the handle, making the weapon unusable.

  He tossed it aside.

  “Like I said,” Bankim sneered, “you’re in my world. I can do things here that I wouldn’t be able to do in the world of the living. You’re at an enormous disadvantage here.”

  Tex glanced over his shoulder at the demon. It stood blocking the exit. The holes that had appeared in the walls closed up.

  The undead shifted restlessly, staring at the top of Tex’s head as if they wanted to crack open his skull and eat his brains.

  “What do you mean you made a deal?” Tex said. He wanted to keep Bankim talking. “A deal with … him?”

  Bankim grinned maliciously. “Yes, a deal. But not with the Lord of the Underworld. No, it was a deal with Kdar Tol. He appeared to me in the darkness of death, just when the demons were about to throw me in the Lake of the Damned.

  “And he offered me an alternative. I could avoid the eternal torment; all I had to do was take my revenge. A very agreeable offer. In return, he would make me king of the undead.”

  Bankim paused and gazed at Tex, his lip curling with disdain. “Do you know how powerful Kdar Tol is? I will tell you.

  Kdar Tol is so powerful that he was able to have the former King of the Undead deposed. Have you any idea how advanced one must be in sorcery—”

  Tex interrupted: “But how do you know he won’t have you removed when it’s convenient?”

  As he spoke, Tex discreetly moved his hand onto his belt.

  “I told you, we made a deal!” Bankim said. “I get you out of the way and he gives me … this.” He raised his hands, gesturing at the room.

  “It may not look like much, but it’s better than the alternative, don’t you think? Besides, now that I have my queen, I would be content to live anywhere.”

  Tex’s fingers found the hard edge of a stone throwing knife. His other hand was already resting casually inside the inner pocket that held his rock.

  “I was disappointed you were away when I dropped by your village,” Bankim continued.

  “It would have been satisfying to make all of your pathetic followers watch as I killed you. But that’s alright. You’ve made things easier for me by coming here.”

  Before Bankim finished his sentence, Tex pulled the dagger and flung it at the nearest undead, at the same time pushing on it.

  The knife spun so fast that it was already lodged deep in the undead’s eye socket by the time his hands leapt defensively into the air.

  Before the knife had left Tex’s hand, his other hand had already pulled out the stone. With smooth coordination, he chucked it upwards into the air in front of him as he threw the knife.

  As the stone came down, Tex pushed it with great force, sending it hurtling towards Bankim.

  He’d practiced the sequence so many times it was almost second nature.

  But the stone stopped several feet from Bankim’s face, suspended in the air. The frown on Bankim’s brow deepened, and the stone exploded into dust and debris.

  Then, an invisible force seized Tex’s throat, tightening more and more. He couldn’t breathe. Neesha screamed, tugging on her chains.

  Emi and Bmimi looked at Tex, panic in their faces.

  The demon’s claws scratched on the stone floor, and three undead lurched towards the girls.

  Chapter sixty-one

  TEX FELT HIMSELF blanking out. He was about to lose consciousness.

  He launched himself into the air, pushing forward off the stone floor and body-slamming Bankim.

  The two of them crashed into the throne. The grip around Tex’s neck loosened, and he gasped for breath.

  Meanwhile Bmimi and Emi shot arrows into two of the zombies, making them stagger backwards. It was typical that Bankim hadn’t even noticed or cared that the girls carried weapons.

  He’d always taken a condescending attitude towards women, and death had not changed him in that respect.

  As Tex wrestled with Bankim, Emi pulled another arrow and fired it into a zombie. Bmimi dropped her bow and leapt towards the wall, acrobatically pushing herself off it and landing behind a zombie.

  She planted her claws in its neck and then used all her weight to spin the zombie around so that it was facing the demon, which rapidly scuttled towards them.

  Releasing her grip, Bmimi drop-kicked the undead in the back, sending it stumbling towards the demon.

  With mindless, frog-like reflexiveness, the demon’s jaws snapped three times, chopping the zombie into pieces.

  Meanwhile, Bankim’s Darth Vader-grip tightened around Tex’s throat again. Tex groped around with his mind, searching for the throwing knife.

  He found it about 15 feet away, where it was still stuck in the zombie’s eye socket.

  Tex pulled on the dagger, and it came to his hand. Clutching the cold stone, he raised it high and then plunged it into Bankim’s neck, immediately wrenching it out and raising it again.

  But Bankim released a massive burst of energy that slammed Tex backwards. He soared through the air and smashed onto the floor, his head bouncing off the stone.

  He saw stars for a second, but he was quickly sobered by the sight of the shaggy demon standing over him with its dripping maw.

  Tex rolled out of the way and leapt to his feet.

  But he saw that all four undead also were on their feet—despite being pierced with arrows or missing an eyeball—and they had captured Emi and Bmimi. One of them was fumbling with shackles.

  Bankim stepped down from his chair and opened his hand. Tex’s dagger flew to him. He grabbed it.

  “You can’t win, Lord Tex,” Bankim sneered. “Not against me –- especially not down here, in my realm.”

  Tex focused on the dager, gripping it with his mind. But he felt his effort blocked. Bankim glared at the dagger, grinning. It exploded into pieces.

  Bankim laughed gloatingly.

  Then, a dog barked somewhere in the distance.

  “Jeff!”

  Bankim frowned, bemused.

  Then, another bark. This time, it sounded like it was up the stairs in the hallway.

  “Jeff!” Tex bellowed.

  The answer came: “Rararararooooooooo!”

  “Jeff! Here, boy! Come on, Jeff!”

  There was one more decisive bark. A second later, the zombies and even the demon looked up with apprehension as a scampering of doggy feet came down the stairs.

  Vicious growling filled the room as the hellhound appeared in the doorway, looking more cantankerous than ever.

  Even Tex was nervous. The hound’s fur spiked up on its back, and it reared its head, letting out a rumbling growl.

  The hound leapt onto the demon, sinking its teeth into the top of its head, ripping off a chunk of flesh and a few eyeballs along with it.

  The wounded demon scrambled out the door.

  “Get back here!” Bankim erupted angrily.

  But the sound of the demon’s scampering insect feet continued up the stairs without slowing down.

  Meanwhile, the undead let go of Bmimi and Emi as Tex stomped towards them, knocking one down and slamming the other into the wall.

  “Release her!” he thundered, pointing at Neesha. “Unlock the shackles!”

  “Do not listen to him!” Bankim stammered. “You will obey my commands, and no one else’s!”

  But the hellhound bounded across the room, snapping and growling.

  Bankim staggered back. “Get out, you filthy cur!”

  The hound knocked Bankim down, then fell upon him, locking its jaws on his arm and shaking like a pit bull.

  One of the zombies produced a key and unlocked Neesha’s chains. Tex watched as Neesha stood up and ran to the other side of the room with Emi and Bmimi. The girls huddled together near the door.

  My girl is free, Tex thought. Now I need my Dargild.

  He stooped and grabbed the broken axe off the floor. Then he ran over to Bankim, who was still in the jaws of the hound.

  It was not a pretty sight.

  Jeff had already detached one of Bankim’s arms and ripped open his stomach. Some guts were spilling out. But the weird thing was, there was no blood, and the guts were all dried out.

  The hound had moved on to one of his legs, which it was gnawing hungrily.

  Tex’s stomach turned as he lifted the axehead above Bankim’s chest.

  “No,” Bankim said. “You … can’t do … this.”

  He raised his arm — the one that was still attached, and Tex felt the pressure gripping his neck again.

  Pointing the axe at the center of Bankim’s ribcage, he let it go and pushed with all the force he could muster.

  Bankim’s chest broke apart like a pumpkin, and the blade of the axe rang out as it smashed the stone floor beneath Bankim.

  Tex felt the pressure slacken from his throat. He gasped for air, catching his breath. Then, closing his eyes in disgust, he pulled the axe out of Bankim’s chest and pried his fingers into the ribcage, pulling it apart.

  There was a lot of crunching and cracking. When Tex opened his eyes, it wasn’t hard to spot the gleam of the Dargild stones. They were all clumped together in the same spot.