Continued from: S3: The Beast, demon of Blood Fountain Tower. “You just did,” one of the mercenaries replied sarcastically, drawing a round of laughter that was cut short by Syn’s glare. “Object bond demons can be carried across the rune,” he continued to explain. “But to a demon in physical form or a creature born of Chaos it is impenetrable. This farmer had the right idea, but the wrong execution. Baring the points of entry only forced the creature to make one of its own,” he motioned to the hole in the roof. “They should have sheltered themselves inside the rune as a sorcerer does when summoning a demon.” Roland looked from Syn to the darkening sky above, and leaped into action. “Clear this room!” he ordered the others. “Get everything out! We need the floor totally cleared.” Then he turned back to Syn, but the Melnibonean was already in motion. He had seen the bucket of paint the farmer had used when he surveyed the room, and was already starting to mark the floor. “Someone get up on the roof and see if you can patch that hole,” Roland commanded. “It may not stop this beast, but we can’t risk rain making the paint run.” Everyone rushed franticly to clear the room of debris, as Syn first painted a line about all four walls of the room, then connected the corners to form four large triangles, and marked each along the inside of each line with the symbol of three mightiest of the Lords of Law; Donblas, the justice maker, Arkyn, lord of nature, and Goldar, the profiteer. “We break into four groups,” Roland told the others. “Each in a rune… and for the nine heavens’ sake, don’t leave your rune! Not if the beast attacks… not for any reason!” Syn, Rynard and Blade settled down in the triangle that fronted the door, while Roland took the one under the hole in the roof, which had been hastily patched. The other’s split themselves between Roland’s rune and the other two; none wanted to be too close to the Dragon Lord. The night drug on with an unnatural silence, as if even the insects had vanished, while each man struggled against sleep… fearful that he might not every waken again. Even Rynard and Blade fought the loosing battle, but Syn, afflicted with insomnia as the price for the sorcery he wrought, sat comfortably in meditation. Then, his eyes shot open, ablaze with cold, blue hell-fire, as he rose to his feet, his demonic greatsword in hand. The others scrambled to their feet as well, their armor clattering in a noisy din. “Be silent!” Syn commanded, the tone of his voice freezing them all into stillness. Then they all heard it, the whoosh of flapping wings… very large flapping wings! Then it bayed, its unearthly voice shattering the silence. The beast had arrived! To be continued on: Thedius, the bog-man.