Кейт Новак - Song of the Saurials

Another orc positioned himself in front of Alias. He leered at her and aimed his battle-axe over the part of her sternum that her chain mail did not protect. The field of enchantment surrounding her armored shirt deflected the axe’s edge before it could cleave her chest open. Taken off guard by the way his blade had skittered across the woman’s chest, the orc lost his balance and fell toward Alias. With a backhanded swing, the swordswoman skewered the ore’s midsection. She lost a few moments pulling her weapon free, but she had it readied before another orc, intent on destroying the female fighter, stepped over his dead compatriot.

Dragonbait called out in saurial, “Toast!” and his sword began glowing, then burst into flame. The two orcs before him cried out in fear. One dropped his axe and fell back, but the other held his position, only to lose an arm and have his clothing set alight by the paladin’s weapon.

Breck was hit by two more crossbow bolts, one in his shoulder and another in his leg. Since he was the biggest member of the party, and the only human male fighter, the orcs no doubt perceived him as the greatest threat, but the Torn Ear’s attempts to fell him first came to naught. He ignored the pain from his injuries and separated another orc head from its neck.

Back behind Grypht, Zhara watched all the bloodshed with horror. This was the first battle she’d ever witnessed, and she realized now that she really didn’t want to see a second. Even so, it took all her willpower to turn her eyes from the gory scene and fix her sight on the dark tunnel behind her. It was fortunate she did, for she turned in time to spy four pairs of red eyes glittering in the dark—orcs creeping up on her and Grypht.

The priestess drew the light stone out of her pocket and held it up with a shout. The orcs fell back in fear just as Breck had said they would. Zhara shuddered and moved closer to Grypht. The saurial wizard scooped up a stone from the floor of the passage and heaved it at the retreating orcs. It caught one of them in the head, and he collapsed to the ground, still and silent. Noting the size of the beast that had just felled their companion, the other three orcs turned and fled.

Meanwhile, the battle farther down the tunnel was in full swing. The second orc to close on Alias swung at the swordswoman’s head with his axe. Alias ducked his first blow and parried the second with her blade. A crossbow bolt grazed Alias’s head, and the orc with the axe hit her shield arm. She lost her grip on the finder’s stone, and the crystal bounced behind the orcs. Alias retreated a step, and before the orc could follow, she lunged back at him, stabbing right through his leather armor, between his ribs and into his heart.

While Breck and Dragonbait engaged the remaining orcs, Alias crawled over the corpses after the precious finder’s stone. Just as she reached for it, a heavy green vine batted her hand away. At the end of the vine was a fanged mouth, which swallowed half the stone and pulled it away. Alias looked up and gasped.

Hovering overhead was a creature out of nightmares—a huge beholder from whose three broken eyestalks and empty central eye socket grew slimy vines, as mobile as arms, with mouths growing from the ends. A second vine shot out at Alias and started to whip about her throat, but the swordswoman slashed it from the beholder’s body with her sword.

The beholder turned ever so slightly, focusing one of its deadly eyes on Alias. “Servant,” the beholder whispered. “Come!”

Alias felt a sudden warmth for the beholder, as if it, not Dragonbait or Finder or Akabar, could offer her all the friendship she would ever need. The finder’s stone flared brightly in the beholder’s vine mouth, and the beholder was forced to close its eye of charm, breaking its spell before Alias was completely besotted.

Akabar, who had just fired a pair of magic missiles at an orc retreating into the hole in the rubble, had already noted the vine-ridden beholder as it pushed an orc from its path and emerged from the hole. The southern mage hurried back to where Grypht stood with Zhara, watching the orcs who had tried to sneak up on them retreat. Akabar tugged on the saurial wizard’s sleeve and pointed at the beholder.

Grypht hissed at the sight of the monster, then grinned with satisfaction at the sight of the beholder’s central eye socket, empty but for the dagger hilt sticking out of it. This is one eye tyrant who will learn to respect the power of a wizard, Grypht thought. The great saurial moved closer to the battle line, pulling a clear cone-shaped crystal from his robe pocket. When he could aim his spell safely without hitting Breck or Dragonbait, the wizard spoke the word “Deathfrost” in saurial and triggered the spell.

Blinded by the finder’s stone light, the beholder failed to see Grypht’s enchantment heading toward it. A blast of frigid air hit the beholder dead on, freezing the vines so they snapped off from the beholder’s body like icicles. The finder’s stone fell to the ground, still encased in the beholder’s vine mouth. The stone glowed more softly once again, but the beholder had had enough. It retreated into the hole in the rubble and disappeared from view.

Alias cut the vine mouth away from Nameless’s glowing yellow crystal and took it up in her hand. She thought of Nameless, and the stone still indicated he was beyond the pile of rubble. Alias climbed up to the hole the beholder had escaped through and followed.

Grypht watched with horror as Dragonbait’s soul sister chased after the beholder without a thought for what lay in wait on the other side. She’s just like Dragonbait—headstrong and foolhardy, the saurial wizard thought. Dragonbait and Breck were still busy battling the remaining orcs, bigger orcs than the others and better fighters, probably a chieftain and his three bodyguards.

There’s no getting around it, Grypht thought. He had to follow Alias. Shoving Zhara toward Akabar, the great saurial moved toward the battle, drawing a bit of gauzy fabric from his pocket.

Grypht tapped his foot impatiently as he surveyed the ground for the remaining component that he needed to fuel his spell. Spying an orc that Dragonbait had felled with his flaming sword, the wizard snatched up a bit of the dead creature’s flaming clothing. He blew on the flame until a mere wisp of smoke rose from the clothing. Grypht held the gauze in the smoke as he uttered in saurial, “Wraithform.”

Akabar and Zhara watched as the saurial wizard’s body faded into insubstantiality. Like a wisp of smoke drawn by a funnel of air, the saurial’s ethereal body drifted into the hole in the rubble after Alias and the beholder.

On the other side of the rubble, the passage was flooded with sunshine pouring in from the well shaft overhead. Alias blinked in the bright light. Before she was able to see clearly or stand to defend herself with her weapon, she was grabbed by several pairs of strong, hairy orc hands. Thinking rapidly, she dropped the finder’s stone, and it fell back into the hole, unnoticed. The orcs pulled her away from the pile of rubble, laid her on the floor, and held her pinned down by her legs and arms.

A grating, high-pitched voice shouted, “I have your singer, nameless one. She will be a servant of Moander’s yet, but you can still share her. If you don’t show yourself immediately, however, I’ll have these orcs slice out her tongue, Moander doesn’t need her voice—only her skill as an assassin.”

One of the orcs kicked Alias in the ribs, and she cried out in spite of herself.

Hiding with Olive in the ceiling hole he’d dug out the night before, Finder stiffened.

Olive bit her lip. Could it really be Alias? she wondered. How in the Nine Hells had she gotten here? Why in Tymora’s name had she allowed herself to be captured? That girl is nothing but trouble, the halfling thought with annoyance. Now Finder would give away their hiding place, and they’d end up compost for Moander’s vines.