Jean Rabe - Downfall

She didn't seem to hear him. Instead, she headed toward a hissing sound coming from a shadowed alcove. A draconian stepped into the torchlight, and from a few yards away it cautiously regarded her.

The creature was a bozak, birthed from a corrupted bronze dragon egg a long time ago when Takhisis walked the face of Krynn and she used these creatures as commanders during the War of the Lance. His bronze-hued scales glimmered in the light of the torch, making him appear almost regal. The scales were the size of coins across most of his frame, smaller along his face and hands where they were flat and smooth like the scales of a fish. His wings were short, too stunted to allow him to fly. But were he not in such tight confines, he could use them to glide short distances.

The bozak was not much taller than Fiona, and was not as muscular as Maldred. But he looked powerful. Battle-tested and old. He wore a gold collar about his neck. It was studded with bronze spikes, and at irregular intervals chunks of onyx, sapphires, and garnets were scattered. It was a singular piece of jewelry, and some part of Fiona's mind recognized it. Recognized that and the deep crisscrossing scars across its chest.

It was the draconian who had appeared before Fiona and the Solamnic Council, the one that was supposed to be in Takar, and the one that had information about her brother. But only a small part of Fiona's mind registered this ironic fact.

The creature opened his mouth as if to speak, but Fiona cut it off.

"Foul beast!" she hollered as she raised her sword high above her head.

Momentarily puzzled, the bozak took a step back and began gesturing with his hands, instantly forming a shimmering gray web in the corridor to keep her and Maldred away from it.

"Foolsss," it spat. "Ssshining Knight, you'll not take thessse minesss. The missstresss holdsss them. As she holds others, and you might…"

Fiona stabbed her sword into the web and fought her way through the sticky mass. Then she pressed her attack, even while it was in the midst of another spell. She sliced into the creature's belly, not letting it finish its vile speech. Deep under Maldred's enchantment, she was oblivious that this was the creature she had planned to meet at the ruins of Takar, the creature she had raised the ransom for. The creature that was her hope of regaining her brother. Only a small part of her mind noted that the Black's minion was instead at the Trueheart Mines, where she was tricked into going.

She drew her sword back again and struck out at its neck. The head lopped forward as the thing dissolved into bones, leaving the gold collar behind. Maldred tugged her back just in time-for the bones burst apart, sending deadly shards through the air while bouncing off her armor.

Then she and Maldred were rushing down the tunnel.

It took nearly two hours for both silver mines to be cleansed of spawn and abominations, and of two enormous constrictor snakes that had been used to keep the slaves in line. Maldred and Fiona searched niches and cutbacks, she calling out in the common tongue and he in ogrish to find more slaves. The mines were immense, and it could have taken more than a day to fully explore them. Maldred wasn't willing to devote that much time, as he wanted to get the freed ogres back to Bloten before any more spawn or other swamp denizens came by. He told Fiona that perhaps Donnag would send more men back here later-if those ogres who were freed provided information that necessitated a return trip.

"After you, Lady Knight." Maldred bowed and extended a hand, and Fiona grabbed the rope and pulled herself up.

He followed. "She has served her purpose," he mused aloud. "A most fine sword arm."

Dhamon and Rig were already in the clearing above, marshaling the freed slaves into some semblance of order and placing those who could barely walk under the care of the ogre mercenaries. Three mercenaries had died to the spawn and abominations, including the white-skinned shaman.

The mariner had a new concern. He didn't want to return to Bloten, and he didn't want the freed humans and dwarves going there either. He knew how badly nonogres had it in that city. His stomach knotted. Taking them farther away would mean that much more time lost from his plan of slipping into the Black's lair and freeing whoever was still alive in her dungeons. "Shrentak," he said. The word sounded like a curse.

"Shrentak? And what would you want with that most wondrous and hallowed place?" The voice was lilting and silenced the murmurs of the freed slaves and mercenaries.

Rig cocked his head and looked around for the speaker. All he could see were the wart-riddled bodies of the mercenaries and the beaten and frail forms of those they'd rescued. Fiona was just emerging from the larger mine. It wasn't her voice. Maldred crawled out behind her.

"Lose your tongue, o' man the color of night?" the voice persisted.

Dhamon was looking for the speaker, too, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. He clutched his sword and motioned for Donnag's men to circle the freed slaves and protect them. Then he took a step toward a line of cypresses. He thought he saw something dart behind a trunk. He squinted and took another step.

"Dhamon!" Maldred shouted. The big thief was gesturing at the canopy.

Dhamon glanced up, and his eyes widened in surprise. The leaves of the cypresses were falling, as if the tree were dying in a moment's time. But the leaves didn't flutter to the ground, they began hovering. A heartbeat later they were rising and swooping-heading straight toward Dhamon and Rig.

"What in the blessed memory of Habbakuk…" Rig began. He drew his sword to meet this new threat, which Dhamon was already attempting to engage.

The leaves shimmered in the torchlight, the green melting from them to be replaced by grays and blacks and browns, many of which were difficult to discern against the shadows of the swamp. The leaves continued to transform, growing wings and tails.

"What are they?" Rig hollered.

Dhamon shrugged and readied to meet this new mysterious threat.

There were hundreds of the things-roughly the size of blackbirds, though they were not birds. They had batlike wings that were more membranous than leathery. Their heads resembled that of mosquitos-complete with needlelike noses that dripped something viscous.

Dhamon reached up to knock one away, discovering that their bodies were segmented and hard like the shell of a beetle. He swung at another, slicing it in two and releasing a foul red gore.

"Stirges!" Fiona hollered.

"What?" This from Dhamon.

"Stirges. They're… they're insects. They'll drain your blood!"

Dhamon was quick to react, for the creatures were already swarming him. Though he swung his sword high above his head, cleaving some in two, several dove at his chest, their needlelike stingers stabbing into his flesh. He hollered, in surprise and pain, as they began feasting on his blood.

He heard Fiona behind him, sword whistling as she cut through the foul creatures. The Solamnic was protected by her plate mail, the stirges flying at her and stunning themselves by colliding with the metal. She was careful to cover her face with one arm. And she continued to strike at one after another as she made her way toward Rig.

The clearing was filled with growls from the ogres, who had never encountered such malevolent insects and who were plucking them off their bodies and squishing them in their bare hands; screams from the freed slaves; the soft thud of the dead stirges hitting the ground; smacking sounds from the creatures gorging themselves.

Bare-chested, Dhamon was an easy mark for the little beasts. A dozen were latched onto his chest and his back. He scraped some off his legs, stomping on them before they could take to the air again.