Son of Thunder f-4

by Murray Leeder

  In the bowels of the Dark Sun, where Mythkar Leng conducted his vile experiments, a disciple of Cyric paced through narrow subterranean hallways that reeked of burning fur. An acolyte followed him, a huge ebon key in his hand. They had already freed their captive groundlings, the half-badger assassins which Leng had formed from many of the traitor dwarves. The mutants were commanded to attack all enemies of Llorkh, then were sent racing into the streets. The Cyricists knew they would be little resistance against the behemoths, but this was an excuse to let them go to work.

  "Llorkh is under siege," the disciple said in a smooth, emotionless tone. "Our temple may soon be at risk. We must unleash our stock to help defend it." To the trembling initiate he added, "It is what Leng would have done."

  "Yes, Dark Master." They reached a metal door, warm to the touch. The acolyte extended the ebon key and slipped it into the lock. As soon as the lock clicked, the hallways echoed with an unearthly barking.

  As the last behemoth passed through the gates of Llorkh, he paused and swung his thick neck backward to rub against the wall above it. A few Lord's Men still clung to their places atop the wall, and ran in terror to avoid falling off as so many of their fellow archers had.

  The behemoths went separate ways as the streets forked, each taking a different direction and plowing through lines of Lord's Men. Some men were trampled under great feet, but most had the sense to step aside. More arrows and spears pierced Vell's hide, and brave swords slashed at his heels and ankles where he passed, but these were of little consequence to him. What troubled him were the cries of pain he heard from the others. They shared his form, but perhaps not all of his magical armor, so impenetrable when Vell held the form of a man or a thunderbeast.

  Vell heard a strange blast of wind, and a moment later one of his fellows let out an agonized moan, which was echoed by sympathetic cries from the tethered behemoths deeper in the city. Vell craned his long neck, looking back just in time to watch Hengin, only his neck and head visible across a block of old buildings, collapse to his knees as he was blasted by a magical blizzard. Even as it abated, frost clung to his scales, chilling his blood. The cold immobilized him and the Lord's Men fell on him. Vell could not see the assault, but he could hear the attacks in Hengin's groans as swords slashed at his exposed underbelly.

  There must be a mage in that street, Vell realized. Letting out his own reptilian cry, he spun about, his tail sweeping through the street and smashing through the fragile buildings behind him, bringing walls crashing down. Briefly rising onto his hind legs, he pressed his forelegs into the side of the stone building opposite. It collapsed under his weight, and Vell pressed forward, his legs crushing each floor until his feet were firmly planted amid the rubble. The rest of the building collapsed from the damage, kicking up a terrific storm of dust. Tremors spread throughout the neighboring buildings and they shuddered, some beginning to crack and fall apart.

  The opposite street was lost in dust and rubble, the enemy mage surely buried and dead, but it was too late-Hengin's cries had ceased. The vast behemoth, a cloud of grit settling on it, lay in the middle of the street, his skin sliced open by the many weapons of the Lord's Men.

  Vell's blood boiled, his gentle behemoth form coming to life, fueled by his rage. Vell felt the rage rising in him but forced himself to hold it back. He needed to keep his senses, if anyone did. He had a mission to accomplish and could not leave self-control behind to stampede off on a haze of seething anger.

  The contingents of Lord's Men guarding the behemoths in the Central Square watched in horror as the new arrivals, larger than the ones already held captive, marched into the heart of Llorkh. They seemed to be unstoppable, ripping the city apart where it stood. But one of the six had fallen. The Lord's Men hoped beyond hope that the animals would be torn down by spells or force before they could reach the square.

  Three groups of soldiers guarded the Central Square, one at each of the streets leading into the city. Each had only about a dozen men, all looking in the direction of the west gate. Behind them, the behemoths moaned a dissonant chorus. They sang in high throaty tones, strange vocalizations that conveyed all of their sadness, grief, and despair.

  From one of the streets sauntered a strange sight-a leather-clad woman with the dark skin tones of the southern Sword Coast. A sword hung at her belt. Surely, she must have been part of a merchant caravan.

  "Milady," said one of the Lord's Men. "We recommend you leave the streets. This place is-" his voice trembled, "-is not safe."

  "I should say not," she said, and opened her mouth wide. A sharp scream issued from her throat that rang and resounded in the Lord's Men's ears, shattering their concentration. Some of them fainted from the sonic assault; others were deafened, dropping their weapons to clap their hands over their ears. Immediately, a wiry young barbarian wielding a massive axe raced into view from the street. The woman drew her sword, and they leaped onto the Lord's Men.

  Together, Kellin and Thluna made short work of the stunned soldiers, he cleaving them with the axe and she sinking her father's sword wherever she found exposed flesh. From across the Central Square, the other contingents of Lord's Men charged, roused from their positions by the battle. As they dashed across the square, past the magical post that kept the behemoths in bondage, the behemoths all raised their tethered feet at once, pulling the chains tight.

  The sudden tension lifted the magical chains off the ground, catching many of the Lord's Men across their middles. They were sliced apart wherever the enchanted chains touched them, their gruesomely bisected bodies littering the Central Square. The few who were not snared went bobbing and weaving to avoid the deadly chains, dashing out of the square back to the streets. Then they fled altogether, into the chaotic alleyways of Llorkh.

  "Clever beasts," Kellin said to Thluna. The creatures lowered their feet and the chains once again lay on the ground. "I only hope they know friend from foe."

  Thluna clapped her on the shoulder, excited for their success. Looking up, he watched a lone crow fly a strange pattern far above, its beak pointed toward the Lord's Keep. "Good luck," he said to her before dashing into the streets, axe in hand.

  Kellin carefully stepped into the square. Gingerly avoiding the chains, she reached the central post. It was a solemn gray marker anchoring a dozen chains which led to the rings on the behemoths' hind feet. Spreading her hands over the top of the post, she tried to dispel the magic that bound the chains. Geildarr's spell was strong and fiendish, and it took all of Kellin's concentration and energy to work at unlocking it. She did not hear the fast-moving feet behind her, or smell the sulfurous stink that filled the air. Not until a fiery blast caught her from behind was her concentration lost and her spell scuttled.

  CHAPTER 21

  Sungar and Hurd burst out of the dungeons of Llorkh with impassioned fury. The two guards at the entrance were startled to be attacked from behind. Sungar caught one on the shoulder with his sword, and Hurd slashed at the knees of the other, sending him tumbling to the ground. Hurd sank his sword into the guard's heart.

  The two warriors dashed through the elegant hallways of the Lord's Keep, looking for a staircase to take them upward. They made no secret of their presence-Sungar freely shouted Uthgardt war cries-but wherever Lord's Men found them, the soldiers were swiftly slaughtered. One of the men, run through by Sungar's sword, lay dying against the wall. Hurd held his blade to his throat.

  "What is happening in Llorkh?" Hurd demanded.

  "Behemoths," he gasped out. "The great lizards. Some have come to attack the city."

  "Friends of yours?" Hurd asked Sungar, sliding the sword home.

  "I can only hope so," said Sungar.

  They rushed through the ground floor. Sungar's rage was in full fervor. Clutching a weapon again, and feeling enemies fall under his blade, made him feel alive once more, reborn from the prison cell. He had feared that all of his Uthgardt instincts had atrophied and vanished, but was thrilled to find his faculties re-ig
nited.

  Before the great iron doors that served as the entrance to the tower, they found a contingent of five Lord's Men. A massive, sickly painting of Lord Geildarr, clad in purple and surrounded by the adoring people of Llorkh, hung over their heads. The soldiers faced the entrance to the Lord's Keep, their attention on the large, sealed doors, ready for a threat from that direction. Sungar snatched up a vase that decorated the passage and tossed it across the hall into an opposite room. As it smashed, the guards turned to look.

  In that moment, the barbarian and the dwarf assaulted them with full strength. Their swords found critical places, and they made short work of their foes. Puddles of blood collected on the red carpet.

  "This is the way out," said Hurd, pointing to the large doors. "If you want to leave…"

  "Why would I?" asked Sungar. "Most likely Geildarr's up there." He pointed to the wide stairway leading upward. Hurd bent over to pick up the head of a Lord's Man, hacked from his shoulders by Sungar's sword. He tossed it up at the painting and it bounced off, leaving a red smear across Geildarr's smiling face. He and Hurd ran up the stairs, leaving bloody footprints on the carpet.

  Soon they found the narrow dining hall where Geildarr had met with Sungar to taunt him. Huge paintings hung on the walls, and white linen covered the long table. The chair at the end of the table had iron restraints built into it. All was lit by a magical white sphere floating in the center of the ceiling.

  Standing on top of the table was a figure familiar to them both, lithe and slender, dressed in black and holding a leveled crossbow. Sungar knew her face from the night of the attack on his camp. She was the one who had captured him.

  Hurd's lip curled into a smile. "We meet again," he said, brandishing his sword.

  Ardeth returned his smile and raised her crossbow. Hurd dodged wildly, and the quarrel zipped past him. Sungar jumped onto the table, his feet skidding on the tablecloth. Almost losing his balance, he swung his sword horizontally at Ardeth. She deftly leaped into the air over the blade, flipping backward to land on the chair Geildarr had sat in when taunting Sungar. She leaped again just as Sungar's sword came down, digging deep into the chair's wooden back.

  In midair, with the heavy crossbow still in one hand, Ardeth planted a foot against a wall and pushed off, turning to plant her other foot on Sungar's shoulder. Though she was light, the force sent him tumbling away from the embedded sword, off the table, and into the opposite wall.

  Hurd snatched up a chair and threw it, striking Ardeth just as her feet touched down on the table. The chair cracked on impact, sending Ardeth tumbling off the table and into a far corner. Her head slammed hard against the wall with an audible smack. She lost her crossbow, which struck the wall and broke apart, landing near her on the floor.

  Hurd dashed around to confront Ardeth where she lay near the manacled chair. Seeing her lying limp and dazed in the corner, Hurd raised his sword above his head and ran toward her with surprising speed for his short stature, hoarsely crying, "For Trice Dulgenhar! For Gorm Gulythn!"

  But as Hurd came closer, he saw a devious twinkle in Ardeth's eye. She slid her hand into the wreckage of her crossbow and came away with a closed fist. She leaped to her feet and charged in the raging dwarf's direction, using her remarkable speed to duck under his sword as he tried to bring it down upon her. In her fist she grasped a single crossbow bolt, which she drove into one of Hurd's eyes. Having penetrated it, she placed her palm on the bolt and drove it into Hurd's brain.

  The dwarf's sword fell to the carpet, and his good eye blinked, then stared dully.

  Sungar rose to his feet. Seeing Hurd's lifeless body collapsing to the floor, he gripped the hilt of the sword, still embedded in the chair, and twisted sideways. The wood snapped and cracked, and Sungar pulled the weapon free. Spinning to face Ardeth, his rage redoubled and he saw something new on her face-fear.

  Before she could reach Hurd's sword, Sungar jumped up, planting his feet on the table with such impact that the whole room trembled. Ardeth skipped away, just before Sungar swung the sword at her from atop the table, slicing through a painting on the wall. Ardeth stopped just before the open door through which Sungar and Hurd had entered.

  Her chest visibly rising and falling, she stood like a frightened animal, unsure of what to do next. Sungar stood atop the table, sword ready, waiting for her next move. She was a dangerous enemy, he knew, and an intelligent one. Hurd died because he attacked her in anger, and Sungar would not make the same mistake.

  Ardeth turned her back to Sungar, ready to run out of the open door. Sungar moved to follow her, but at the last moment she turned back, pulled into a somersault, and rolled under the table. Sungar plunged his sword downward with all his strength. It sank through the wood, and Sungar put all his weight behind it until it was buried hilt-deep in the table.

  All was silent. The magical light above the table trembled, casting nervous shadows over the room.

  Sungar jumped off the table, snapping up the sword that Hurd had wielded. He looked under the table, where the darkness was deep. The sword Sungar had impaled in the table was close to touching the floor, but no one was there.

  Ardeth was gone.

  Vell urged his behemoth form forward through the streets of Llorkh. To his left, he heard a massive crash and hoped that Thanar and Draf were destroying the barracks and any Lord's Men who were still inside. He hoped the two of them would escape with their lives.

  Vell seemed to have left the Lord's Men behind. Rarely, a soldier would dare cross his path, but the streets were mostly empty as he continued his dauntless plunge toward the Lord's Keep. In the buildings around him, he occasionally glimpsed terrified townsfolk peering out at him.

  Half a dozen strange dogs appeared in the street before him, unlike any Vell had seen before. These curs were slightly larger than the dogs or wolves he knew, wiry and muscular, with fur the color of rust. But their eyes glowed fire, and their hideous faces had such unearthly looks that Vell knew they could not be of this world. Hell hounds, he realized.

  More hounds joined the small pack, and together they ran at Vell, leaping and snarling, plumes of fire emerging from their mouths. Vell stamped his feet, trying to trample them, but the hell hounds nimbly dodged, snapping at his legs and feet where they could. Each time they sank their jaws into his flesh, a jolt of pain shot up his leg.

  In the middle of the Central Square, Kellin froze, her head spinning as her spell to erase Geildarr's magic collapsed in her mind. She turned to stare a hell hound directly in its blazing eyes. It leaped on her, its huge fore-paws striking her shoulders and smashing her against the stone post. Her arms flew back, nearly striking the deadly chains. She smelled the sulfurous stink of the hell hound's mouth as its huge jaws snapped at her neck.

  Desperately, Kellin kneed the beast in its underbelly, and as it yelped from the blow, she grasped it around the middle, her hands clawing into its matted fur. With all her strength she flung the dog sideways, hurling it onto one of the chains tethering the behemoths. The hell hound bayed in agony as the magic of the chain melted its flesh. The air filled with the acrid scent of burning fur. The hell hound bounded upward, almost regaining its footing before Kellin drew her sword and slashed through the air. It caught the hound through its muzzle, cleaving its skull apart.

  Brazen barks sounded across the square as three more hell hounds entered, running toward Kellin. She extended a finger and conjured four cold blue pellets of magic. They coursed across the square and struck one of the hell hounds, but it kept running. Kellin looked toward the other streets leading out of the square, but hell hounds burst from them as well. She pressed her back to the post, held her sword ready, and awaited the assault.

  Not far from the Lord's Keep, Thluna ducked into an alley as a trio of hell hounds rushed by. He hated hiding from an enemy, but knew it was only prudent. Lanaal was fetching another flask of alchemist's fire that she had stolen from a local shop and hidden on the rooftops of Llorkh. Her destination was the
guard contingent in front of the Lord's Keep. The fire, they hoped, would occupy the guards, and allow Thluna entrance.

  Hell hounds seemed to have the full run of the city, tearing through anything that stood in their way. Thluna slaughtered two with the axe, but the beasts were ripping away at the behemoths wherever they found them. He feared for Kellin, for he could see that the behemoths in the square were not yet free of their bonds.

  Thluna heard a strange sound in the dirt beneath him. He looked down just in time to see a hole open at his feet. Thick-clawed hands reached out and grasped him by his legs. He caught a glimpse of a creature like a giant badger-its black-furred snout covered with dirt-just before it pulled and yanked him off his feet.

  Thluna fell, grasping the axe tightly in his hands. He kicked his feet hard but it was no help; he was being dragged down into a burrow. The creature dragged him farther and farther until his head was pulled into the hole, his mouth filling with dirt. Thluna kicked and struggled madly. He punched and scraped at the dirt, widening the burrow's entrance to give himself enough room to swing his weapon.

  Choking on dirt, Thluna gripped the axe by the end of its handle, managing an unwieldy swing downward. The axe head sank into the dirt, and as the groundling tried to pull him farther, Thluna swung again and again, with as much strength as he could manage. The groundling gripped his legs tighter, its badger-claws digging into flesh, just as the axe broke through the earth, sinking into the creature's head.

  Feeling the claws yield their grip on his legs, Thluna released the axe. His muscles strained as he dragged himself free of the burrow. Gasping heavily, he brushed clumps of dirt from his face. Down the street, he heard a small explosion and the crackle of fire, followed by the screams of men.