61
With a dry swallow, you urge the white stallion down the slope and into the valley. You can feel its mighty heart thumping against its ribs, matching the speed of your own. With the Moonstone held high above your head you move through the ranks of the Demon host. Gibbering with fear, they shield their eyes from its pure, white light and back away, stumbling over one another. The sea of deformity parts like a tall swathe of grass to let you pass. Resolutely you stare ahead ignoring the hideous mass of malignancy that surrounds you; nothing must distract your gaze as you focus on the flaming archway that draws nearer with each tentative step of the stallion’s hooves. Now, the moment of no return, of death or triumph, has come. You release your necromantic aura of protection and begin anew, focusing your mind on the Moonstone and on the closing of the portal. The demon horde wavers, but only for a moment: they are still spellbound by your presence and intimidated by the Moonstone.
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
