Another whimper reminded me of the hound, and I looked around to see the animal trotting toward one side. Though I had thought the wall behind us was solid, the dog vanished into a darkened alcove I hadn't previously discerned. Pressing back against the wall, I felt a gap; a quick look showed me a good-sized niche in the tunnel's side.
"In here!" I urged, taking Badswell's big hand in both of mine.
Willingly he followed, ducking his head below a low, moss-draped beam that supported the ceiling of the alcove. Silent now, the hound padded after us, spinning to regard the outer tunnel with upraised ears and alert, still mournful eyes. The niche wasn't deep, but it provided at least some shelter, and we huddled against the back wall, turning back to stare helplessly at the onrushing pack of eight-legged monstrosities.
I noticed that the leading spider-wolf was the same type as the creature that had spoken in Oakgnar's lair, that had seemed to command the pack of attacking monsters there. This one was larger than the others and covered with scraggly, bristling hairs of the same blue-green color as the body of a plump carrion fly. It scuttled like the others on eight gangly but well-coordinated legs, and like the previous leader, it had a pair of additional limbs jutting from its neck. As the monster raced closer, I saw that these were like human arms, but tipped with hooked talons and layered with shredded flesh.
Hideous eyes bored through the darkness, freezing me in place. Snarls and growls resounded, echoing through the tunnels, vibrant with menace. The monsters' corrupt, unspeakable hunger was a physical force in the air, and in that instant, I knew the beast's very mind was reaching out to me, touching my consciousness, paralyzing me with terror.
The spider-wolf pounced through the opening of the surrealistic tunnel. Drool spattered from the wolf fangs, and a black, vile-looking tongue draped between gaping jaws. Other beasts, howling, animalistic lackeys, followed obediently, a dozen gathering behind the leader. The pack advanced into the corridor and formed a half-circle to block Badswell and me in the hollow niche.
"Ah, mortals... again you draw us—for the last time, I trust," declared the commander in that melodious, smoothly articulated voice.
I raised Goldfinder, ready to fight, while beside me, Bads hoisted his makeshift club, preparing for a battle that could only end one way.
The blast of searing, steaming liquid came from the left, from the direction of the black dragon, as a spray of death that showered through the confining tunnel. A drop struck the back of my hand, burning like a bee sting, while other splashes spattered around us, smoking and hissing on the dirt floor.
The great mass of the corrosive stream gushed across the gathered mass of spider-wolves, sizzling through carapaces, eating away flesh and fur. Howls and shrieks rang from the doomed mass, a cacophony of agony as arachnoid monsters whirled about in a futile effort to reach the white-walled tunnel. More crumpled beneath the shifting stream of killing acid as a gout of liquid spurted again, soaking the panic-stricken mass. Most of the spider-wolves collapsed where they'd been engulfed, flipping over, sometimes kicking sporadically as jaws worked in yelping pain, other times perishing instantly, like spiders crushed by the step of a heavy boot.
The grotesque spider-wolf that had led the attackers ducked under the initial blast of the dragon's acid, cowering against the wall of the cavern beyond our hiding place. Its crimson eyes burned from the narrow, wolfish face, fastening upon the dragon and glaring with hatred and fury.
"Servant of chaos, cease! You threaten the will of one who is mistress to us all!" cried the spider-wolf, again enunciating in that deep and powerful voice. The monster rose into the air, rearing onto its four back legs, flailing with its forelimbs. The two humanlike arms spread wide, a beseeching gesture that seemed no more bizarre than the creature's appearance or its smooth and cultured voice.
Another blast of acid spewed, catching the pleading spider-wolf directly in the face, smashing it onto its hard-shelled back. Fumes rose thickly, the stench of corrupt flesh seething and billowing through the corridor. I covered my nose and mouth, striving not to gag as the grotesque spider-wolf withered under the corrosive attack.
Bads and I stared in horror and awe at the scattered refuse of dead, still-dissolving monsters. All of the arachnoid intruders had been slain by the blasts of dragon breath. The magical gate was already closing, fading into an improbably mundane wall of moist dirt beyond the gruesome remains. Monstrous flesh continued to bubble and seethe across the floor as the remnants of the acid worked its destructive power. Occasionally one of the arachnoid forms twitched or wiggled, an effect of collapsing support as legs and bristling, hairy carapaces were eaten away by relentless corrosion.
A stinking, billowing fog filled the corridor, burning eyes, savagely stinging the membranes of noses and throats. I tried desperately to restrain the sounds of choking, leaning weakly against the wall, holding my breath until I grew dizzy, then exhaling with slow, painful deliberation. Gratefully sucking air, I heard Badswell, too, stifle any audible sound of our presence. The hound still squatted between us, eyes wary and watching, but apparently suffering no discomfort from the vile fumes.
Slumped against the wall of our niche, praying that the dragon didn't advance far enough to see us, I recalled the peculiar sound of the spider-wolfs voice—and its words. The monster had spoken to the dragon as a servant of chaos, as if the two beings were some sort of allies in a universal cause, an alliance that had done nothing to gentle the dragon's violent response.
Badswell and I waited in utter silence, allowing the heartbeats to pass with excruciating tension. We heard no sound, and finally I started to hope that the dragon had returned to the depths of its cavern. We crept cautiously out of our niche, striving to move silently, fully terrified of the monstrous master of this lair. Skulking in the shadows near the wall, gingerly putting one bare foot in front of the other, I tried to avoid the corroded corpses of the spiders and the small pools of acid that lingered here and there, smoking and bubbling dangerously.
The hound growled softly, a bare whisper of sound that brought us up short. I felt Badswell stiffen beside me as my eyes strained to penetrate the inky shadows.
Then I didn't have to see, as a voice deep with menace and droll with cruel amusement rumbled from the depths of the tunnel before us.
"I see you, little rats."
Now I discerned the head rising in the darkness, cruel eyes blazing down at us as a forked tongued flickered between rows of serrated fangs. Again the powerful voice boomed. "I have eliminated the minor distraction. Now you will be kind enough to tell me—quickly—why you are here."
My mind groped for excuses—anything I could tell this dragon that would postpone the blast of acidic breath that was certainly imminent. But what could I say—that we'd been out for a little stroll and lost our way? Or we were explorers, perhaps, looking for a good path through the Vastest Bog?
"We came here to find a piece of stick, much like this one," I explained frankly. Somewhat surprised by my own forthrightness, I nevertheless pulled the chip of ebony from my pouch and held it up for the dragon to see. "The other one belongs to Badswell, here... only it disappeared a few days ago. We aren't sure where it went, but we think it's around somewhere, in your lair."
If I was startled by my own explanation, I was astonished by the dragon's reaction when I showed the black stub. The monster reared back, hissing loudly, fanning those dark wings in the constricting corridor. Wincing against a gush of air, I cowered away, expecting the blast of fatal acid that would conclude our adventure.
But more surprises were imminent. The dragon dropped to its forepaws, glaring at us with crimson eyes. Midnight jaws gaped, revealing those sharp teeth again, but still the creature didn't spew its deadly spray.
"You got my stick?" Badswell asked bluntly. If his legs were as jellied, his guts as churned as mine by the monster's presence, the half-ogre did a fine job of concealing it. Now he planted his hamlike fists on his hips and glared at the serpent.
>
The hound stood between the two of us, staring with interest at the great wyrm. Neither cringing nor bristling, the dog seemed more curious than anything else.
"Take it! Take it and begone!" spat the dragon with a dart of its head that startled me backward onto the floor. The hound merely blinked, then turned to regard me with a gently impatient expression, as if to ask what I was waiting for.
"Wh-where is it?" I managed to blurt, looking upward from my seat in a pool of mud.
The blood-red eyes bored into us as the wyrm moved silently and deliberately backward into the depths of its lair. Bads hoisted me with an easy tug, and the two of us followed cautiously after the retreating dragon. The hound padded along, frequently turning her head to sniff interestedly at the shadowy corners of the muddy lair.
I couldn't quell the palpitations of my heart as the dragon's shape became clearly outlined against a pale source of illumination. This close, the monster towered overhead, more like a building than a being. The serpent backed into a large domed chamber, and I saw that the entire room was suffused with a pulsing, shimmering glow.
"Patrikon have mercy!" I gasped when I passed through the door. The gentle light rose from the myriad brilliant gems scattered across the floor, shedding glows of emerald, ruby, turquoise, and sparkling diamond. Among these precious stones, other sources of brightness were larger, and pure white. Scanning the chamber, I counted one mighty sword, at least three smaller blades, a shield, and some sort of pike. Silvery metal cast a moonlike glow from the blades of magical weapons, and the rainbow spectrum of glowing gems shimmered in a multitude of magical colors, while the entire, vast chamber seemed to be carpeted in a layer of silver and gold coins.
In short, it was a treasure trove such as I'd never seen. Bads stood dumbstruck in the arched entry, if anything, even more astounded than I. The dragon sidled off to the side, looming over the doorway that seemed to be the only point of access to this big cavern.
Taking several steps forward, I realized that I had unconsciously started for the center of the room. The chip of wood was smooth and heavy in my hand, and there could be no mistaking the source of my urgency.
Badswell followed me for a pace or two, and the serpent lowered its sinuous neck behind us so that its head blocked the entry tunnel. "Hasten!" the monster commanded curtly.
The half-ogre suddenly turned and regarded the wyrm, his jaw jutting stubbornly barely an arm's length from the black, scaly snout. "You keep lots of stuff. Why you so happy to give away my stick?"
"Fool!" sneered the wyrm. The baleful gaze swept to include me. "You are dealing with powers you cannot hope to comprehend, powers that cause even me, Acydikeen, to know fear!"
"You weren't afraid when them big spiders came," Badswell noted.
"The spyder-fiends invaded my lair. They fully knew the risk of such intrusion. They merely paid the price."
I wondered silently if we would have to pay the same price. If so, I had to ask at least one question first "What powers are we dealing with, Acydikeen?"
"Do you know of the immortal mistress of the spyder-fiends, the Queen of Chaos?" it demanded.
"I've always made it a practice to leave the affairs of the gods to themselves," I explained, silently asking for a moment of forgiveness from Patrikon and wondering why the minor dishonesty should bother me.
The dragon's reply was a laugh, chortled to convey even more menace than a thunderous roar or sibilant whisper. Anything that this dragon found humorous, I sensed, was bad news for my companion and me.
"The queen herself—she of glorious disarray and all-powerful cruelty. She commands legions of spyder-fiends, kakkuu, and lycosyds, and others who number among the greatest of all tanar'ri. Even the mighty raklupis, rare and potent as they are, fear her wrath and obey her commands without question."
Tanar'ri I knew by reputation; the word sent an icy spear through my belly. Powerful magical denizens, purveyors of hatred and evil, these beings of colossal villainy served horrible gods and pursued murderous goals with tireless vigor. Tanar'ri could appear at will, attacking suddenly and without mercy, striking in ever greater numbers until they achieved their inevitably hurtful objectives. Now that I thought about it, that pretty well sounded like the spyder-fiends.
"Touch it but carefully," Acydikeen warned. "You know by now that its use can bring more of the fiends?"
I was stunned by the news, though I decided I didn't have to admit that to Acydikeen. Yet, once again, much was explained: Every attack of the spyder-fiends, I suddenly realized, had followed a use of a segment, such as to heal Saysi or Badswell or, when Bertisha had used it, to magically slow me.
I remembered another thing, in a timely fashion for once. We didn't want to put the two pieces of the rod too close together, or we risked having the larger one disappear in an instant. "Badswell, why don't you pick up your piece?" I suggested, as still more questions popped into my brain. I turned to confront the wyrm as my companion advanced.
"You never told us why you're so anxious to get rid of it," I stated.
"It is law, and I am chaos!" hissed Acydikeen. "It came to rest here between two of my prized gems, polluting them with its rigid essence. I fear it shall seep through all my baubles if it is not removed."
"And it's pollution to you, too," I guessed. "So you don't dare touch it?"
"Take it and begone!" the dragon snapped, drooping leathery lids halfway across crimson eyeballs as it studied me appraisingly.
Badswell, meanwhile, crossed the chamber and quickly saw the black stick. He picked it up, looked at it, and nodded to me.
"You said these are segments of law," I pressed, turning back to the serpent. "But what law?"
"Nothing less than an artifact of many planes—a cursed thing that has now descended upon our world. The Rod of Seven Parts, it is called, and woe befall the one who bears too much of its load. Now, take it and flee, while I deign to spare your miserable lives. Go!"
Acydikeen swept its great wing toward the tunnel. Bads and I needed no further encouragement, and both of us sprinted into the darkness. The hound, ears and tongue flapping, gamboled along behind us. We retraced our steps toward the base of the plummeting pit, stepping gingerly around the partially dissolved bodies of the spyder-fiends and avoiding altogether the cesspool of the slain gulguthra.
Only when we reached the sheer, vine-draped shaft leading to the surface did another problem occur to me. I turned from the steep wall, looking for the big dog that had panted easily at Badswell's heel while we ran. The animal was nowhere to be seen.
"Hound?" I called, urgency raising my voice.
"Where'd she go?" Badswell scratched his head, peering curiously into the darkened tunnel. "Ain't there."
"Come here, dog—hound. Where are you?" I shook my head in frustration, pained by the animal's disappearance even as I realized that there was no way we could have lifted her up the wall of the shaft.
"Mebbe she's got a different path," Bads suggested. "She got down here somehow."
I was forced to agree. "Well, maybe we'll meet her up on top, then," I said hopefully. At the same time, I wondered something else: The dog would certainly have had to swim in order to reach this island, yet her coat had been as smooth and dry in Acydikeen's lair as it had been on the two other occasions the hound had appeared. Indeed, the animal must have been living in the wilds for days, yet somehow managed invariably to appear moments before the arrival of the spyder-fiend attacks.
We had no time to ponder mysteries, however. The dragon's imperative would allow no delay. Taking care to find only the sturdiest vines, I led the half-ogre up the side. Foot by panting foot we strained upward, clutching the ropelike tendrils with white-knuckled fists, kicking and clawing with our feet to aid the ascent.
Finally we crawled over the flagstones at the rim and collapsed, gasping and sweating, on the ground atop the pit. The air of the Vastest Bog—a stagnant and oppressive miasma hours earlier—now seemed a breath of freshness, breezi
ly wafting away the stench and rot of the depths.
Quickly we started across the tangled island. This time it was Badswell leading the way, and he trampled the thorniest bushes into a flattened path. When we reached the edge of the wetlands, I climbed onto his shoulders again, and he waded without hesitation into deep muck and through stagnant, lily-tangled pools.
Only as we pressed toward the distant shore did I reflect on the half-ogre's purposeful flight, realizing that we left the bog by a different direction than we had come here. Reaching a conclusion of my own, I nevertheless asked him about the fact.
"I dunno," he admitted, finally pausing to catch his breath. With a blink of his pouched eyelids, Badswell reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of stick that looked so much like an extension of my own stub. I thought of a third piece of this mighty rod, an extension of the two small portions we held, and I knew that Badswell was thinking the same thing.
Then his eyes rose, turning toward the east, the direction we had started. He spoke with unusual deliberation.
"I only know that we have to go this way."
CHAPTER 12
MEETING IN THE FAR PLANES
Spots of bobbing light filtered through the spaces between lofty pines, surrounding the lone traveler's camp with a ring of sparkling, enchanted illumination. The pearly baubles might have appeared random at first glance, but careful observation would reveal a precise and measured cadence to their stately march.
The softly feathered trees formed a nearly perfect ring about the grassy clearing, and a tall, naked figure occupied the very center of that roundel. Arquestan stood as still as a pillar of stone over his fire ring of flat rocks arrayed in a precise circle. Within that shallow pit, embers glowed pale red, visible only because the rest of the night had descended into realms of absolute, utter blackness.
The wind duke was uneasy. A long and dangerous road had brought him here, to a world he had visited often in the past, a parklike realm of pastoral solitude that had offered him respite from many a more chaotic locale. Yet now he watched flares of lightning ripple through the sky beyond the distant horizon, growing more powerful with each passing minute. He heard the distant rumbles, felt the vibrations in his chest, and knew that the queen flexed her power, sending ripples of chaos through the planes.
The Rod of Seven Parts Page 13
