neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

The galah flew toward the ceiling, called anxiously down to them. “They come! The Dark Ones come! Beware and be ready!”

A hand touched Buncan’s arm and he forced himself not to pull away from its tormented owner. “Remember promise,” Cilm said softly.

“I’m not killing anyone. Not yet.” Sheathing his sword.

he brought the duar around in front of him. “Squill, Neena!” The three of them put their heads together and in low tones began to rehearse possible defenses, while Mowara squawked and circled overhead. Left to himself, Cilm ripped and tore at the innards of the unmoving box until they lay strewn all over the floor.

“Who dares!” came a bellow of outrage from above.

“They have destroyed the oracle!” Judging from his tone, the second speaker was more frightened than angry.

Hooded figures were gathering on the level above the pit. Buncan was gratified to see that they carried not cryptic sorceral implements but ordinary weapons: swords and knives.

“Get ready,” he murmured to his companions. They formed a tight little knot off by themselves.

“Kill them, kill mem!” Beginning softly with one of the figures, the chant grew quickly in strength and volume.

The tallest of the hooded ones stepped to the edge of the stairs and shoved back his cowl. Eyes burning, ears twitching, Droww glowered ferociously down at them.

“You will be most agonizingly dismembered, and then I will have the pleasure of transmuting your genes!” His glare was pitiless. The threat had little effect on Buncan, since except for the part about dismembering he didn’t have the vaguest idea what the wizard was talking about.

“By the power of the All-Splicing Mage, by the haploid dissolution. By the fecundity of my kind and the fevered twists of their DNA, I call upon the Great Master of Selective Breeding to make an example most hideous of these blasphemers!” Raising his hands toward the ceiling, he began a new chant that was quickly picked up by his followers.

A dark glowing mass formed at the base of the stairs. Low, reverberant grunts and growls began to issue from within.

“Steady,” Buncan urged his companions, his fingers taut on the strings of the duar.

Something was moving within the bloodred cloud. As it began to dissipate, a hulking shape half as big as Snaugenhutt emerged. Sloping, hunched shoulders were clad in a studded leather vest. Its short, fluffy tail had been transformed into a nest of spikes, as had the crest that ran down its back. Both ears were ragged and torn, and long fangs hung from the upper lip. One hand dragged an immense wooden mallet along the floor.

“Carrot!” it rumbled.

“No, no!” Above, Droww was forced to interrupt his chant and point at Buncan and the otters. “Rend, tear, immobilize!”

The massive figure blinked uncertainly. “Carrot?”

“Carrot later!” a dyspeptic Droww bellowed. “Rend first!”

Heavy-lidded eyes focused on the unmoving trio. Lofting the mallet in both hands, the mutated hare lurched forward and swung.

Buncan began to play even as he leaped to his right, the otters scattering in the other direction. The head of the mallet dimpled the floor where they’d been standing.

“Hey, gruesome, over ‘ere!” From beneath a still-intact table Squill made a face at the apparition, which brought the mallet around and down with a prodigious grunt, reducing the wooden platform to splinters. Squill had long since scrambled to safety. Droww wrung his hands helplessly. “No, no! Be carefitll”

This request evidently involving elements of subtlety far too fine for the ungainly executioner to comprehend, it paused to blink dumbly up at its master. “Rend careful?”

The delay allowed Buncan and his friends time to regroup. Despite being winded, the otters harmonized splendidly and without hesitation.

“This no place to Ignore a dare

Callin’ up this thing’s ‘ardly fair

But that’s all right, ‘cause we got rap to spare

If you won’t fight straight, we won’t fight square

Beware

Up there

Better have a care

Better watch your hare

‘Cause our fresh hip-hop’s

Gonna fix your lop _

An’ your magic ensnare.”

Silvery fog enveloped the mallet-wielding monster. Halting in midswing, it let out a mammoth sneeze (evidently the enchanted mist was ticklish) and, despite the by now somewhat desperate chanting of the Dark Ones, began to shrink. Fangs diminished, feet contracted, head and body dwindled. Only the ears remained resolutely unchanged.

The brute continued to reduce until there stood in its place a diminutive rabbit no larger than Mowara, with ungainly ears that went all over the place. A representative of the lop clan, Buncan thought with a smile as he relaxed his fingers, to end all lops.

Despite the transformation, it still made an effort to comply with its original directive. “Rend!” it declaimed in a high, squeaky voice as it brought its equally shrunken mallet down on Squill’s foot.

The otter let out a yelp and danced clear. “You bloody little . . . I’ll tie you up in your own ears an’ use you for a bleedin’ yo-yo!”

“Enough!” The raging Droww flung his arms wide. The other Dark Ones drew away from him.

“ ‘Ear that?” Neena prompted him. Straining, Buncan could make out the sounds of fighting somewhere outside the chamber. He smiled. With the Dark Ones diverted, it sounded like Wurragarr and his people had managed to breach the gate. If they were inside the wall, it was only a matter of time.

“It’s over!” he shouted up at the aggrieved hare. “You’re finished, Droww. Even as we stand here, our friends are busy cleansing this monastery.”

“Except for you,” Neena added pleasantly. “You’re too bloomin’ ugly to cleanse.”

“You slew the oracle.” Droww’s voice was a tormented snarl. “You have destroyed knowledge. Do you know what that means?”

“Yeah, we know what it means.” Buncan gave the inert, disemboweled box a kick, and it rattled hollowly. “It means you’ll never again be able to use it to foist your perversions on innocent people.”

“Perhaps not, but while the knowledge-giver has been slain, the knowledge it has already given remains with us.”

He spread his aims to encompass the pit. “All this, yea, even all this, can with time be replaced.” He glanced to his left. “We can begin anew, Brothers.” A murmur arose from the other Dark Ones as they waited to see what their mentor would do.

He returned his gaze to Buncan and his companions. “But first,” he hissed, “we must deal finally and irrevocably with these intruders. Then we will take care of those pathetic country folk outside.” The wizard straightened. “You spellsing impressively.”

“Cor, we ain’t ‘ardly worked up a sweat, guv. Colloquially speakin’, that is.” Though Neena knew she was physically incapable of perspiring, she’d often wished she could sample the sensation.

“I tire.” Droww let out a measured sigh. “So much to do, so many distractions. It is hard to contemplate greatness when one is always tired.”

“It’s even ‘arder when you’re dead.” Squill fingered his sword as he favored the wizard with a friendly grin, whiskers arching.

“An observation full of truth, water rat, and one which applies equally to the mundane.” Turning to the acolyte on his immediate left, he murmured, “Release the Berserker.” “The Berserker?” the hooded one stammered. “But great Droww—”

“Release it, I say!” He gave the hesitant hare a violent shove. “I will establish control.”

Hearing a moan, Buncan turned to see the rooman backed up against the wall. “What’s this ‘Berserker,’ friend Cilm?” But this time their ally was unable to reply.