Gingerly I reached out and separated a few of the reeds, then tried vainly to bite back a gasp of apprehension. A snakelike neck of inky black, topped by a scaly, reptilian head, jutted from the swamp a mere stone's throw from our island. Crimson eyes, wickedly cruel and evil, glittered coldly from the lofty face, and I sensed that a massive, unseen body surged beneath the surface, driving the monster forward with relentless power.
The beast approached us at an oblique angle, reaching the island just a short distance off to the side. Two mighty forelegs emerged from the stagnant muck, and I saw feet, studded with hooked talons, leathery webbing connecting the toes, seize the firmament and easily pull the rest of the immense serpentine body from the mire.
The creature advanced smoothly and with supple grace, but it still took that sinuous form a long time to emerge. I saw slime-slicked wings tucked against narrow flanks, rear legs even larger and more powerful than the fore, and a long, snakelike tail. The whole body, except where it was coated with lime-green algae or tendrils of muddy seaweed, was black, as pure and lightless as solid obsidian.
My experience with the great wyrms of any kind or color was admittedly limited. Once or twice I had fled, panic-stricken, from the distant presence of a mighty dragon of red or green, without getting—or desiring—a real good, up-close look at the creature. Still, the resemblance between the serpents of different colors was significant, and from the leathery, folded wings and long, supple neck to the trailing and snakelike tail, it was impossible to mistake this creature for anything else. Though I had never seen its like before, I recognized the monster as a black dragon.
Casting a look at Bads, I was impressed to see that, though he remained pressed to the ground, his head was up and his eyes followed the dragon's advance with no sign of panic.
The ground of the island shuddered underfoot as the monster shook itself, casting a rain of stagnant water and algae through the underbrush. Neither Bads nor I made any move to wipe ourselves off as the misty drizzle showered us with goo. Timber crashed and snapped as the huge body pushed its way through the thicket, and as the tip of the serpentine tail vanished from view, I realized that I'd been holding my breath.
"Black dragon," Bads declared, nodding his head as if a mental picture had been confirmed by reality.
Mutely I nodded. My limbs shook, and I felt a twinge of nausea. Still, I was pathetically grateful that the monster had passed us by without taking note of our position. Carefully I rose from my crouch, trying to stem the trembling in my arms and legs.
Then an even more chilling knowledge hit me with the force of a thunderclap: The dragon had disappeared in the same direction as Bads and I had been traveling. Even without reaching a conscious conclusion, I had the sickening sensation that the second piece of the ebony stick and the black dragon's destination were indisputably entwined.
"We follows him, right?" Bads whispered, as if he had sensed my own suspicion, but without the apprehension that accompanied my thoughts. Indeed, for the first time, I seriously considered turning around and forgetting about the stupid piece of magical wood.
Of course, it was Badswell's segment that we were after. "Yes," I agreed, rising to a sense of duty that had never propelled me before.
My affirmative reply contradicted my fears, and I didn't really know why. Perhaps Badswell's own courage shamed me into agreeing to continue our quest. More likely, it was that strange sense of purpose, of the rightness of our mission, that compelled me to continue.
Creeping cautiously, we moved through the undergrowth on the low island. In places, water pooled between the trunks of the small trees or turned a flat place into a sticky mess of mire. Fortunately, because of the trampled underbrush, the dragon's trail was easy to follow. Furthermore, the beaten state of the greenery served to muffle any sounds that our passage otherwise would have made.
In a short time, we came to a place where a wide swath had been cleared. Obviously the dragon traveled here a lot, for the gap was just the right width to accommodate its bulk. A reptilian stench lingered in the air, nearly gagging me, as we tiptoed gingerly along the edge of this path. The center of the well-used route was wide and clear of obstruction, but also thoroughly muddy. Though neither Bads nor I felt in any way fastidious, we were both leery of walking somewhere where our tracks could be so easily observed.
Instead, we skulked along the edge of the dragon's walkway, probing through strangely still woods, looking for any sign of ambush or trap. Though the trees were scrubby and small, they nevertheless arched high enough to meet over our heads, casting this wide path in perpetual shadow and no doubt concentrating the acrid stink of the black dragon.
After about ten minutes, the pathway spilled into a wide clearing, surrounded on all sides by tangled trees draped with moss and vines. The open area was itself a mass of thornbushes and burdock gathered around a small hill that domed upward to a low crest in the center of the gap. Still following the fringe of the dragon's walkway, we tried to avoid the thorns as much as possible, creeping cautiously to the foot of the gently sloping rise.
Dropping to our bellies, we wormed across the mucky ground, inch by inch drawing closer to the rounded crest. At the top, we discovered a circular opening leading straight down into the ground. Square stones, like monstrous bricks, surrounded the opening, apparently as prevention against erosion. The pit plunged into utter blackness, a lightless shaft into the heart of the swamp. The sides were black, moist dirt, with roots and vines dangling from the earthen embankment. A few of these trailed for a long distance downward, vanishing into the dark, while a smell of rich soil, tainted by that familiar, unmistakably reptilian stench of decay, rose from the hole.
I was not surprised to learn that the dragon had gone underground, but the fact nevertheless proved considerably disheartening. Once again I briefly thought about abandoning our mission, but Badswell knelt boldly at the edge of the hole and peered inside.
"We kin climb down," he said. "Vines like ropes hangin' all over in there."
"Great." My reply was spoken without enthusiasm, but Bads seemed to take no notice of my reluctance. The half-ogre turned his back to the hole and, without hesitation, dropped to his belly and slid his feet over the edge. Cautiously he lowered himself, seizing several of the vines and supporting his not inconsiderable weight as he eased himself down the side.
One of the ropelike tendrils slipped in a cascade of dirt, and I gasped, holding my breath in apprehension as Badswell reached out and grasped another vine. In seconds, his grip was secure, and he continued downward until he was swallowed by the shadows.
I realized that, for the first time since leaving his home, Badswell had let me get well out of his reach and his sight. Still, I gave no thought to abandoning the big fellow. Instead, muttering reluctant questions under my breath, I found a sturdy vine and began to lower myself after him. My bare feet slipped along the muddy sides of the pit, and the circle of sky grew ever smaller as I descended.
Shortly we stood together on the muddy ground at the base of the deep, sheer-sided pit. Dim light filtered downward from the sky, and I could make out a pair of looming apertures, black holes of stagnant darkness, leading in different directions into the lair.
Badswell sniffed cautiously, his broad snout testing the dank air. "Dragon went that way," he concluded, pointing to one of the two tunnels.
I touched the chip of ebony and my spirits brightened, at least a little. The compulsion was as strong as ever, and for once, it didn't seem to lead straight to disaster. "We should go down that one," I replied, indicating the other tunnel, stepping forward with a display of fearlessness.
Shadows cloaked the damp, muddy corridor, closing like flowing ink across walls and ceiling and floor. My bare feet padded softly against moist dirt, and I sensed the breadth of the passageway extending far to either side. Perhaps the dragon wouldn't be able to fully spread its wings in here, but it would otherwise have no difficulty in the large passageway.
Soon
the darkness was so complete that I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. I hesitated, but Badswell touched me on the shoulder, steering me with a steady hand. "I kin see a bit," he whispered.
We passed around a long, gradual curve. I felt pressure against my toes and sensed that we were descending a very gentle slope. Shuddering, I reflected that each step took us farther and farther away from the air and marsh above. The Vastest Bog might not have been a paradise, but it was a pastoral picnic ground by comparison to this lightless lair.
In the absence of illumination, other senses took over. Most notably, my nostrils seemed to become exceptionally keen. The moist, stagnant air seemed to stroke my skin, probing into every recess of my lungs. The reptilian stench of the dragon remained pervasive, but now it was masked by a more vile and steadily growing presence. It might have been rotting flesh or offal; whatever caused the stink was a physical force that seemed to drag me down with each step. Eyes watering, blinded by the stink as much as by darkness, I groped relentlessly forward. Despite the noxious surroundings, there was no reduction in my compulsion to find the missing piece of stick.
Abruptly I could see again, and I realized that we had come around another curve in the depths of the black dragon's lair. Drooping wedges of fungus grew, mosslike, from the walls of a wide circular chamber. The lichen glowed with a natural phosphorescence, light enough to barely part the stygian shadows. Water trickled down the walls of this dank cavern, gathering in a shapeless puddle of muck in the center of the circular floor. My eyes detected more subtleties of the greenish light, and I realized that the passageway we followed continued onward. The circular chamber was a side cavern, with no other entrance visible.
I started past the diverging entrance, but felt a tug of mental resistance. Badswell, his hand still on my shoulder, felt my hesitation.
"In here?" he asked, skeptically eyeing the stinking chamber and its puddle of nameless goo.
"I—I'm not sure," I said. In fact, for the first time since starting out, I felt confusion over which way to go. Part of me wanted to continue on, but there was something compelling about this dank and oppressive room. "Maybe I'd better have a look."
The half-ogre's hand lifted from my shoulder, but I took comfort from knowing that he held his heavy club ready behind me.
Hesitantly I advanced, now feeling—and fighting—a strange compulsion to hasten into the room. The murky liquid in its dark pool was singularly uninviting, but I couldn't bring myself to turn away.
Something odd disturbed the surface of that brown muck, a circular spot distinctly brighter than the surrounding ooze. The strange sight drew me like a moth to a lantern, calling me on a level I found impossible to resist. This was not a segment of black stick, but still it was something that pulled me closer, luring me... wanting me.
A thrashing movement drove me back before I even registered the danger. Slashing past my face, a blunt tentacle smashed into my shoulder, knocking me to the side. I tried to twist away, but the gummy tendril clutched my upper arm with a deathly grip, pulling me down helplessly. I splashed into the murk and felt the soupy liquid closing over my head, but even in my frantic terror, I couldn't break the iron grip that threatened to drown me.
My lungs burned as I squirmed in the forceful clasp, inexorably drawn toward the center of the pool. Still underwater, I kicked and thrashed and punched, but the powerful tentacle only squeezed me harder.
Something seized my bare foot, tugging hard, and with that twisting grab, I came free, spluttering to the surface to see that Badswell had waded into the gooey mess. The half-ogre, holding me upside down, lifted me free of the pool and then tossed me to the shore as a hulking monster flailed closer.
Gulguthra! Although I had never encountered one of the dung-eating horrors, the beast's reputation was well known to every adventurer. I saw the distinctly circular mouth with its ring of wicked teeth, the two powerful tentacles thrashing outward from the bony shoulders.
Now those ropelike tendrils had fastened around Badswell. The big fellow planted his feet, but still the monster pulled him steadily closer. Two round, luminous eyes gaped soullessly from the blunt body above that horrific maw.
"Bads! No!" I cried, splashing into the pool, hacking Goldfinder into one of the ropey strands. The gulguthra merely bashed me aside with a powerful blow. Once again brown water closed over my head and, choking and retching, I scrambled toward the shore.
I lurched to my feet, sobbing and cursing, watching as Badswell's club was plucked from his fist by the return swipe of the slapping tentacle.
The half-ogre rolled out of sight, buried by the bulbous, three-footed shape of the dung-eater. Two mighty fists rose from the scummy liquid, bashing against the monster but growing weaker with each blow. The blunt face remained underwater, the big body pressed down by the even greater bulk of the bony-shelled dung-eater.
"Badswell, you can't die!" I cried shrilly, leaping onto the back of the grotesque monster. Repeatedly I stabbed my blade through that chitinous shell, driving steel deep into the vile innards. I lost track of how many blows I had struck, but some moments later I realized that I was the only one moving in this dim chamber. The gulguthra, slain, lay still in the midst of spreading gore. More frighteningly, the only sign of the half-ogre was a limp fist lying alongside the dung-eater's body.
I seized that hand and pulled, my eyes blinded by tears, my small body infused with desperate strength.
"Come on!" I cried, my voice choking. I pulled again, knowing this was the most important thing I had ever done. Too many friends, too many loyal companions, had fallen beside me through the years, and I knew that I couldn't let that happen again.
Slowly the big body came free, the corpse of the gulguthra rolling to the side, settling into the nameless murk of the pool. I waded around Badswell's shoulders, reaching down, seizing his head to lift it free from the liquid. Bubbles frothed from his lips as he choked out a cough.
Those big, sad eyes remained closed. Frantically I pulled, until the half-ogre's head and torso were free of the pool. His chest rose and fell raggedly, each breath accompanied by a bubbling gurgle.
My fingers found the stick of healing in my pouch, and I held the chip to Badswell's mouth, pleading and crying, praying to Patrikon and begging for my friend's health to be restored.
Finally he coughed explosively, spewing liquid over me, and I laughed out loud.
"Get up!" I cried. "You're going to be all right! Come on, Badswell, sit up! It's me, Kip!"
Fear for the half-ogre set my heart to pounding painfully. As I worked my hands up and down on his chest, I was surprised to realize how much I'd come to care for the big galoot. I offered up another prayer to Patrikon, pleading with Saysi's deity for whatever protection and comfort he could offer my oversized friend.
Gradually I felt the half-ogre's awareness return. With a soft sigh, Bads pushed himself to a sitting position. "Lots better," he declared quietly.
"I—I was terrif—" I tried to talk, my words choked off by uncharacteristic emotion. "I'm—I'm glad you're okay."
The half-ogre touched me, very gently, on the shoulder. "Where's my club?" Shaking his head groggily, he lumbered back into the pool of muck, feeling around until he lifted the heavy, knobbed stick from the mud. "Got it."
"D'you think you can walk?" I began to have a strong feeling that we shouldn't waste time. Without speaking, Badswell nodded and pushed himself slowly to his feet.
"Which way?" wondered my companion.
Still holding the piece of stick, I turned toward the dark tunnel leading deeper into the lair. The sense was undeniable now. Somewhere in there we would find the missing piece of ebony. Wet muck slurped under our feet as we started ahead. Without success, we tried to muffle the sounds of our passage, but even when we moved against the wall of the cavern, the ground was soft and sloppily yielding.
A sudden sound rustled through the dank tunnel from the opposite wall. I froze in panic, until a gentle whine settled my
fears.
"It's the hound," I whispered, delighted to see the animal, then immediately puzzled as to how she could have gotten down here. The sheer shaft was far too steep for any dog to climb down. For that matter, I had to wonder how she had followed us through the swamp.
Bads, too, stiffened and then relaxed beside me. He reached down and patted the dog on the head. "Good girl. But why you come here now?"
Abruptly I knew the answer, understood what the dog's presence meant—the same fact heralded by her last two appearances.
"It's a warning! More of those spider-wolves must be coming!" I hissed urgently, striving to hold my voice down. Immediately I looked around, seeking, dreading the shifting of reality that, twice before, had resulted in attack by the savage spider-wolves.
"More trouble." Bads, his tone strangely matter-of-fact, indicated the depths of the cavern. I couldn't see anything in the darkness, but I heard low, rasping breaths and the sound of a large body moving through the muck, advancing toward us. "Dragon's comin'."
Obviously Bads's eyes were better than mine, at least in the darkness, and I wasn't about to argue with him. At the same time, the all-too-familiar whitish glow rose in the cavern wall across from us. The solid dirt of the dragon's lair faded, turning milky white and casting soft illumination through the cave. That surreal tunnel, flanked by the unnatural pillars of white, led directly from its unknown origin to this dank hole in the ground.
CHAPTER 11
ACYDIKEEN
The black serpent's eyes glowed like embers, emerging from the darkness as the monster advanced along the corridor. At the same time, turning my head to the side, I saw the hideous shapes of the arachnoid spider-wolves charging rapidly down their white-bordered tunnel. Drooling jaws snapping, shaggy heads straining forward from the bloated bodies, the monsters advanced as a whole pack, more of the beasts than I had ever seen before. In that ungainly but speedy gait, they scuttled down the path toward the milky opening.
The Rod of Seven Parts Page 12