James Wyatt - Dragon forge

Holding the tiny object gingerly between two fingernails, Sevren stooped to pick up a small piece of cobblestone. He laid the egg on the flat stone and pressed his nail into it. There was a barely audible squelch and a violet fluid oozed out. He picked at the shell, revealing a tiny maggot-thing, the same pale purple as the nodule. It was about as large as the husk that held it, suggesting that it had been almost ready to hatch. Indeed, it pulsed with life and began to writhe as soon as the air touched its slimy skin, lifting one end toward Sevren’s finger. With a snarl of revulsion, the shifter cut the larva in two. The halves continued squirming for a moment before falling still. Sevren stooped again and used the stone to grind the maggot against another cobblestone.

“What will those grow into?” Zandar asked.

“No idea. Probably some warped form of fly or beetle. A blood drinker or flesh eater.”

“So are we continuing into the ruins?” Kauth asked. “Or circling around?” He glanced at his three companions.

Zandar’s revulsion was clear on his face-ironic, Kauth thought, considering the dark and twisted forces the warlock dealt with in practicing his magic. Vor’s face was impassive, while Sevren looked grim.

The shifter set his jaw and spoke through clenched teeth. “Continuing.”

Vor nodded, and Zandar looked off in the direction they had been walking.

“Until discretion trumps greed, we forge ahead,” Zandar said. “I’m not letting flesh-eating flies dissuade me. At least, not before they’ve hatched.”

Kauth smiled. These were, indeed, the kind of men he’d been looking for-rootless, experienced, and tough. Expendable, he reminded himself-but not until they reached the Demon Wastes.

“Let me see your weapons,” Kauth said. “What?” Vor asked. “Why?”

“If we’re going to fight the spawn of the daelkyr, I want us to be ready. I’ll enchant your weapons to strike truer and harder against them.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Sevren said, sliding his knives from their sheaths and handing them to Kauth. Vor followed his example.

Zandar shrugged and gestured toward the dagger at his belt. “If I end up drawing this thing in battle, we’ve already lost,” he said.

As they pressed farther toward the heart of the ruins, scattered heaps of crumbling stone marked the locations of ancient buildings. The vines that covered them were acid green or lurid yellow, studded with spiny thorns, and they bore sharp-edged leaves. Clouds of flies swarmed around the party, tormenting them with painful bites, some even drawing blood.

Sevren held a hand up, bringing them to a stop. Kauth saw what had caught his attention-the foliage was tramped down ahead of them, woody stems snapped and leaves ground into the fractured cobblestones. The shifter dropped to one knee beside the most obvious marks, then followed them a short way to the right. He stood and rejoined them, his brow furrowed.

“It’s big,” he said. “Walks on two feet, but dragging its arms as it goes. Except where it picks up a chunk of rubble and tosses it aside. A gray render, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You can tell it’s gray from its tracks?” Zandar asked with a sardonic smile.

“I don’t know that for sure, but I’ve never seen a gray render that wasn’t gray.”

“How many have you seen?” Kauth asked. “Just one.”

“So what can we expect,” the warlock said, “based on your extensive past experience?”

Sevren shot him a glare. “They’re big, and strong as a giant. Their name comes from their color, obviously, and from the way they grab and tear. Stay out of its claws.”

“The voice of experience?”

“Yes. The other thing is, they have a strange habit of taking up with other creatures, assuming a role like a bodyguard.”

“Like a loyal dog,” Kauth said.

“Exactly. And about as smart. So it’s probably attached itself to whatever spawn of the daelkyr-”

Sevren’s hands shot to his ears and his mouth opened wide in a voiceless scream. Vor stepped to his side as Kauth looked around for the source of the attack. The first thing he saw could only have been the gray render Sevren had described-a hulking brute with a hairless gray body, long arms, and short legs. Kauth’s head reached about to its gaping mouth, but the thing’s sloping forehead and hunched shoulders rose several feet above him. Six small eyes in two columns rose up above the razor-toothed jaws.

Kauth’s mace was in his hands before he saw the render’s companion-an enormous emerald-scaled serpent almost as large as the gray-skinned brute. It slithered along the ground, holding its head high. A cobralike cowl spread out behind its head, which bore a twisted mockery of a human face, snarling in rage.

Vor stepped forward to meet the onrushing gray render. It thrust its misshapen head forward and tore the orc’s flesh with its black teeth, catching Vor off guard-his axe was ready to block a claw swinging in from the side, not the bite coming down from above. Only after the bite connected did the thing bring its claws to bear. Kauth’s gut clenched in fear-not for his own safety, but for the fallen paladin’s. He cursed his weakness even as he sprang forward to distract the creature before it could tear Vor apart.

His mace’s flanges tore into the render’s upper arm, and the monster’s head turned to him. Vor wrested himself out of the render’s grasp and struck a powerful blow with his greataxe, drawing its attention back to him.

Kauth nodded. Back and forth, back and forth, he thought. Keep it constantly distracted so it can’t land a solid blow.

He edged around the beast so it was directly between him and Vor, meaning it had to turn farther each time it shifted its attention. He scored a telling blow on the render’s back, just behind its arm, and it roared in pain as it wheeled back to face him. He concentrated on defending himself until Vor struck it again.

Back and forth, he thought, and it’ll be dead in no time.

Then the pain hit him, in the form of an arcane word that coursed through his body and set his nerves on fire. There was no part of him that wasn’t in agony, and he doubled over, clutching at his ears as Sevren had done. Even the gray render’s tearing bite didn’t increase the pain. He started falling backward from the force of the render’s blow, but its claws caught him before he hit the ground. Just as the torturous word faded from his ears and its wracking agony with it, the render’s claws tore at him and sent a jolt of a different kind of pain through his chest. At last, the render tossed him aside, turning back to face Vor, and he fell to the ground in a heap.

Kauth just wanted to lie there-it hurt to move even the slightest bit. It was humiliation, though, that made him reach for one of the wands at his belt and send its healing magic into his body. He didn’t want to be the one who got knocked out of the fight again, as he had when they fought the Children of Winter. He didn’t want to lose the respect of his companions.

The wand’s magic coursed through him, knitting his flesh and easing the ache that still throbbed in his skull. He took a deep breath as it flowed like cool water through his veins, bracing and refreshing, then got to his feet.

He heard Vor shout in pain, caught in the gray render’s grip again. Shifting his hold on his mace, Kauth swung it as hard as he could into the beast’s shoulder. The spikes dug deep, and the club’s impact made the render stagger forward. Vor stumbled backward out of its grasp, and then it fell on him. The orc managed to shift its weight to one side and send it crashing to the ground without being crushed beneath it.

Kauth drew a wand again and started toward the orc, but Vor waved him away, pointing weakly at the others. Kauth spun around-focusing on the gray render and the combat rhythm he had found with Vor, he had all but forgotten their two companions and the serpent creature.