Don Bassingthwaite - The Binding Stone

Singe gagged. Gathering his concentration, he stared at the dolgaunt and hissed the words of a spell. In his mind’s eye, the creature’s nightmare form seemed to come into sharper focus for a moment, the swirling of its tentacles, arms, and legs slowing into something comprehensible. A moment of certainty filled Singe and he snapped up out of his crouch to swing his rapier at empty air.

Except that when the blade reached its target, the air was no longer empty. As he swung around for another blow, Hruucan drove his arm straight onto Singe’s waiting rapier. The weapon sank in deep, piercing the dolgaunt’s arm above the elbow and sliding along the bone to emerge just below Hruucan’s shoulder. The dolgaunt’s whirling fury stopped. He froze.

So did Singe. There was a certain feel to the moment of a sword striking flesh. A solid connection, a tearing of muscle, a grating of bone. His strike on the dolgaunt carried none of those sensations. Instead, it felt as though he had driven his blade into spongy, rotten meat. There was no resistance as it penetrated muscle. When it struck bone, it glided silent and smooth along the hard surface. Singe choked and jumped back, tearing the weapon away. It came free as easily as if he was wiping it across fine velvet. It left no wound behind it and only the barest trickle of blackish blood. Hruucan flexed his arm and smiled.

And as Singe stared, the dolgaunt’s tentacles swept around behind his back, crossed, and yanked him forward. His rapier tumbled from his grip as Hruucan swept his arms wide, pulling him into a horrid embrace.

The tiny writhing buds of the creature’s skin crawled against him-and where his skin was bare, or his clothing thin, stung! Singe howled in agony. It felt like the buds were burrowing into him! He struggled, trying to push back against the dolgaunt, but silent as a ghost, Hruucan squeezed tight, his tentacles flexing to drag across Singe’s back. Their touch stung as well, bringing a new scream out of the wizard. Even the thick flesh of Hruucan’s scalp tentacles swung to brush at him! The Aundairian sagged, weak and dizzy as if the dolgaunt was draining his very life away.

“Singe, get away from him!” Dandra’s voice.

Singe fought to wrench his head back enough to turn so he could see her. She stood on the other side of the barricade, one trembling arm extended toward Hruucan. When they had first met in the forest, she had hurled fire bolts with ease. Now it looked like she was fighting to draw on that power.

“Move!” she shouted. “I’ll burn him!”

Singe wanted to shout at her to burn him anyway-he wasn’t entirely sure his ring would protect him from her psionic flames, but he was willing to take the risk. There was no need, though. As Hruucan whirled toward the sound of Dandra’s voice, Singe could feel his horrible body stiffen. He pushed Singe away, reaching instead toward Dandra. The wizard reeled back to stumble against the broken pole that flew Toller’s jacket. He stared down at his arms. Where they had been pressed against the dolgaunt’s squirming skin, his flesh was puckered like Toller’s.

On the other side of the barrier, Dandra was backing away from Hruucan, her spear held ready, her hand pointing at the dolgrim. Hruucan vaulted lightly to the top of the barricade and just stood there, tentacles writhing in the darkness. He seemed to stare at Dandra for a moment, then raised his harsh voice. Gibbered words, the same language he had used outside the Bull Hole to command the dolgrims, rippled off his tongue. Singe couldn’t understand any of them, but Hruucan’s command was obvious. All around the common, dolgrims began streaming toward them in immediate response, their chattering rising into shrill cries. Adolan’s elemental swung around ponderously, roaring in confusion as the sudden movement of its tiny enemy.

An instant later, the weird fluting call of the Bonetree hunters rolled through the air as well. Singe choked on a curse as savage figures leaped out of the trees and across the common, battered and bloodied after their fight with Adolan’s wolves but still very much alive!

“Hand of the Revered!” called the old hunter Geth had fought. “Command us!”

A hard pleasure seemed to spread across Hruucan’s horrid visage. Pointing at Dandra, he shouted to the hunters, “She’s here! Take her!”

One of the hunters, a muscular brute streaked with blood and armed with a heavy, wide-bladed axe, raced ahead of the others. His face was weirdly pinched and too small for his body, but his eyes were even smaller, dark pinpricks gleaming mad with bloodlust in the firelight. “Su Drumas!” he screamed as he charged. “Su Darasvhir!”

With enemies on all sides, Dandra spun around in confusion, her spear and her hand wavering.

Then Adolan was there, darting through a wash of firelight to put himself between the Bonetree hunter and the kalashtar. The hunter shouted again and swept his axe around in a deadly arc, but Adolan jumped back out of reach and thrust with his spear, forcing the hunter to break his charge or be impaled. The blood-streaked warrior threw himself to the side. Adolan followed, stabbing his spear down. The hunter was faster though, rolling aside and leaping back to his feet. His next swing was even heavier than his first. Adolan barely managed to check it with the shaft of his spear. The blow still sent him staggering back and left a deep notch in the spear’s shaft.

“Ado!”

Geth’s roar rolled across the battlefield of the common. Singe saw the shifter’s sword and great-gauntlet flash as he tried to fight his way past a pack of dolgrims to the druid’s side.

Atop the barricade, Hruucan’s tentacles twitched in frustration. His eyeless face turned toward Dandra. He tensed, ready to leap at the kalashtar.

Singe’s chest clenched. “Hey, wormface!” he bellowed. He jumped at Hruucan and grabbed the rough fabric of the loose pants the dolgaunt wore. Hruucan turned, kicking to try and shake him off, but Singe held on grimly. Spreading the fingers of his free hand, he pointed up at the dolgaunt’s head and bony chest and let the words of a spell ripple from his lips.

Fire rushed from his fingers, washing over the foul creature. Some of the flame rebounded to pour down over Singe, but the magic of his ring protected him. Hruucan had no such protection. The dolgaunt let out a grating screech as his deformed flesh bubbled and charred. He tore himself from Singe’s grasp and tumbled from the barricade, fleeing blind into the smoky darkness.

His flight struck confusion into the dolgrims. Their charge slowed, turning into a chaotic mass. Beyond Adolan and his big, black-eyed opponent, however, the rest of the Bonetree hunters were still closing rapidly. Singe scrambled up onto the barricade where Hruucan had stood only a moment before and spoke a word of magic. A tiny, intense tongue of flame sprang into the palm of his free hand.

Picking his target carefully, he drew back his arm and hurled it. The flame streaked through the air as far and fast as an arrow-though not quite fast enough. Singe caught a glimpse of the old hunter leaping back hastily with his eyes wide and heard him shout for others to do the same.

The tiny flame exploded with a roar, flashing in a sudden inferno so bright it forced the wizard to fling up an arm to protect his eyes. Even Dandra gasped at the blast.

So did Adolan.

The massive hunter-so caught up in his rage that he didn’t seem to notice the fiery magic at all-swung his axe in a heavy, overhand blow that sheared through the druid’s spear and into his chest.

Adolan fell to his knees. Dandra’s gasp turned into a scream. Singe froze in shock. The hunter planted one foot on Adolan’s chest and forced him backward as he wrenched at his weapon. The axe came free in a spray of blood. Adolan swayed but remained on his knees, his eyes watching the wide blade sweep up …