Брюс Корделл - Lady of Poison

The blighted creatures paused in their onslaught, uncertain of their master’s command. Marrec and Gunggari paused, too, wondering what deal the Talontyr might be willing to offer. The Talontyr was getting nervous, guessed Marrec.

“I tire of this game. I begin to think you’ll pierce my defenses, and what? You’ll attack me directly, Talona’s Chosen?” The Rotting Man laughed.

Marrec considered throwing Justlance right then, or perhaps moving just a bit closer in order to bring his gaze to bear, but the Rotting Man continued speaking. “While it might be edifying for you to begin such a contest, it is beneath me. It’s more fitting, really, that you meet your end at the hands of that which you’ve come so far to meet.”

The Rotting Man half turned on his seat, still choosing to sit even in the presence of his enemies. He waved his hand toward the great cyst bulging from the base of the tree behind his throne. He said, “Yes, Talona informed me far ahead of time of the Green Powers’ gift to the world. I moved to intercept it. I grew the Thieving Ash to snare the divine energies of the gift as it was born into the world. Those energies are contained therein, infused with my own special touch, Talona’s blessing, and the goad of continual pain.”

Marrec whispered, “Thieving Ash?” He looked around at the girl behind him. The child’s eyes focused then on the cyst, as if she expected something wonderful to emerge—or something terrible.

The Talontyr, nearly giggling in sudden glee, continued, “Yes, the child there with you is the portion of the Green Powers’ gift that slipped through my fingers. Thank you for delivering it to me. Finally! The entire gift is now mine.”

“Behold, then,” continued the Talontyr, “what has become of the Aspect of Light. Behold Talona’s Step-Daughter!”

The fleshy flaps obscuring the partially burst cavity heaved and ripped. A fantastically large bubble of blood swelled darkly from the fissure, and immediately burst, releasing a wave of liquid in every direction. Shrieking, the blighted creatures surrounding the throne scattered before the scarlet flood, though the Rotting Man laughed as the stinking bile poured over him.

Something still fought to free itself from the cyst—something too large for Marrec to immediately comprehend. It heaved itself free of the cavity, showing first a vast expanse of festering flesh twenty or thirty feet on a side, like the side of a hill come to life. The heaving, pulsing body was supported by four wide legs, elephantine in their simplicity and shape but larger, yet the struggling monstrosity, when it finally extricated itself from its woody chrysalis, was headless. It was a vast mass of gross flesh supported by four massive legs with no front or rear, only body. Except … something protruded from the creature.

A slender horn, convoluted and fluted, but straight and spear-sharp at the end, jutted from the infected flesh. The horn was over fifteen feet in length if it was an inch, yet Marrec recognized its likeness from the first. The horn was like a unicorn’s.

“Abomination!” The words tore themselves from Marrec’s throat. The wrongness of the creature, the warped nature of its existence, the plight of the Gift—it was all too much for the cleric to bear. He ran forward, past the throne on which the Rotting Man sat. A look of intense concentration suffused the Talontyr’s face, but Marrec barely noted it as he moved closer to the vast bulk.

Gunggari ran forward with Marrec. The Oslander was more nimble than Marrec remembered, jumping and leaping ahead with newfound vigor. Perhaps it was the influence of the Nentyarch’s final vial? Gunggari moved so quickly that he passed the cleric, running up so he was nearly beneath the Daughter. Utilizing his forward charge, Gunggari swung his dizheri around, two-handed, delivering a mighty blow upon the creature’s lower flank. The Daughter’s flesh rippled, and from somewhere, though no orifice was visible, a basso scream erupted.

The Daughter’s single horn slashed through the air with uncanny speed, nearly decapitating Gunggari—it would have, were it not for the Oslander’s newfound quickness.

Marrec began incanting a spell, a spell he’d been unable to cast for months, a defensive spell. As soon as he felt its protective embrace enfold him like an old friend long missed, Marrec continued forward. He would try first his newfound connection with Lurue—he would try to turn the creature from its present course, perhaps break it from the control of the Rotting Man.

Bringing his spear up, Marrec bellowed, “Lurue commands that you give way, abomination. Turn your face and be destroyed.”

His spear head, its shape that of a stylized unicorn horn, blazed with golden light. Unlike when he had tried this same ability against the vampires, his power did not break. He radiated a surge of holy power, which washed upon and over the Daughter.

The creature’s entire bulk shook, and a deep cry issued again from some unseen maw, but the creature would not be turned from its directive. The horn slashed forward, elongating as it moved, spearing at Marrec with a life-ending thrust. If not for the cleric’s just-cast defensive spell, he’d have been skewered. Still, the shock of the thrust sent him stumbling back.

By that time Elowen charged the Daughter, too. She came up to the creature several feet from where Gunggari danced, trying to keep from being trampled beneath the creature’s stamping feet. Fancy sword-work was impossible—she faced a creature too large for such niceties—it was too mindless to be distracted by feints and too massive for a blade to deflect a horn-thrust or a trampling foot.

Elowen ran up and shoved Dymondheart directly into the side of the creature, all the way to the hilt. Then she began to saw the blade back and forth, trying to lever the wound into something much larger. A spray of vile matter, fecal by its stench, began to spray from the widening wound, but the elf hunter had no time to finish her task. The massive horn, supernatural in its ability to elongate and shorten at need, found a new mark. The Daughter’s horn swiveled and struck, slamming lengthwise into Elowen’s body. The elf was sent bodily flying through the air, Dymondheart spiraling away the opposite direction. When Elowen rolled to a stop, she failed to rise.

Ususi finally entered the fight, this time on the side of her friends. A ray of yellow stabbed forth from her wand, but she targeted not the monster but its progenitor. The ray fell full upon the Talontyr as he sat his throne. A flash of amber and a crack that competed with the thunder still rumbling above followed. The Rotting Man was unfazed. The power washed away from him with no effect, other than to catch his attention.

As Marrec cast Justlance deep into the side of the Daughter—causing the creature to buck and squirm, but only in apparent annoyance—the Rotting Man spared a splinter of his attention for Ususi.

He said, “You sought my attention—see what you make of it.”

He gestured, and a wave of muck and rot gathered and flowed from around his throne, building, cresting and falling upon the wavering Ususi.

Where the wave passed, the imaskari stood unharmed, surprised to still retain her life. Ash’s influence still protected them from the Rotting Man’s direct power. Indeed, Ususi had moved to stand ahead of the child, even in her fear thinking to protect Ash. It was the child who offered their only protection there in the Court of the Rotting Man.

Marrec glanced back at Elowen. The elf had not stirred from where the Daughter’s horn had thrown her. Marrec realized she was out of the fight. He didn’t dwell on how hurt she might be. If they were unable stop the Daughter, they would all find themselves in a similar or worse state soon enough.