neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

An instant later the chamber echoed to the sound of wood splintering as a mighty physique came smashing through an upper-level door. Fragments of wood spilled over into the pit. Buncan waved away sawdust and tried to focus.

A much smaller shape came gliding rapidly toward him. “Viz!” On the level above, Buncan could see Snaugenhutt peering down at them, a satisfied smile on his homely face. Bits of door teetered on his broad back and his armor was badly dented, but he appeared otherwise unharmed. In his wake the sounds of fighting doubled in volume.

“We’re through,” declared the tickbird, hovering overhead. “They’re giving up all over the monastery.”

Buncan turned to stare back up at the master of the Dark Ones. “It’s all over, Droww. The ‘simple’ folk you despise have overcome your creations. Make it easy on yourself and surrender now.”

Droww appeared not the least concerned. The wizard was looking not at him but to his right, toward the dark portal that sealed off the far end of the pit.

“Not only is it not ‘over,’ human cub, it has not yet begun. Your immature mind is not capable of envisioning the end product of informed and inspired genetic manipulation. Indeed, you are not even aware of the forces of which I speak. It therefore falls to me to enlighten you. Pay close attention. It is the last thing you will ever learn.” His laugh was like a rotting jellyfish: soft, unpleasant, redolent of decay.

“When you have been dismembered, it will be my pleasure to recombine you. I will fashion from your remains several simpering, crawling things, the lowest of the low. You will live in constant pain, begging for death, an example to any and all who would dare consider defying the sanctity of Kilagurri.”

Squill pointedly blew his nose into a sheaf of papers he’d picked off the floor. “That’s quite a speech, guv, but it ain’t relevant, ‘cause you’re gonna be ‘eadless real soon now.” Gripping his sword tightly, he started toward the stairs.

A distant rumble made him stop.

Everyone looked curiously, uncertainly, toward the shuttered portal that was now the focus of the wizard’s attention. Suddenly a high-pitched shriek that scraped the upper limits of audibility echoed from behind the opaque barrier.

Buncan shivered in spite of himself. Nothing screamed quite like a dying rabbit.

Droww pushed out his lower lip. “Pity. It would seem that in the course of carrying out his duties Brother Jeurrat did not move quite quickly enough.”

It wasn’t so much a rumbling, Buncan thought restively, a’ a ponderous heavy breathing that was coming nearer and nearer. He thought of the bellows constantly at work at the Lynchbany Smithy’s. No cheery, animated sparks accompanied the approach of this sound. It resonated with prodigious threat.

Neena glanced at him. “Duncan?” The seriousness of the situation was reflected in her calling him by his real name.

He kept staring at the blocked portal, mesmerized by something he could only sense. “I don’t know. Something big.”

Droww held his ground, but his colleagues commenced a slow retreat, murmuring nervously among themselves.

“Something wrong, spellsinger? Come, give us a tune! Something jaunty and brisk. Have you never crooned a Berserker before? Is not music supposed to soothe?” His arms and hands were jerking about, tracing edgy spirals in the air.

As Wurragarr’s people pressed their offensive deeper into the confines of the monastery, the constant buzz of hand-to-hand combat in Buncan’s ears diminished but did not cease. He knew now that was only an echo of a sideshow. The outcome of the entire undertaking would be decided any minute, here in the ruins of the monks’ laboratory. Mowara and Viz looked down from above, while Snaugenhutt paced fretfully on the upper level. Cilm was nowhere to be seen, the rooman having fled precipitously. Otter to the left of him, otter to the right of him, Buncan waited for whatever was coming.

And something was coming. Of that there was no doubt.

It did not crash through the heavy barrier, nor smash it violently aside. It simply bit through the gate as if it were fashioned of paper instead of iron-barred timbers, then contemptuously spat the crumpled wood and metal aside.

Buncan considered the apparition. It was not quite as big as Snaugenhutt. Its aspect, however, was enough to strike terror into the hearts of heroes yet unborn.

Great muscles bunched like skin-wrapped boulders beneath the humped shoulders. Two sets of widely spaced, sharp-pointed horns protruded from atop the skull: one facing forward, the other inclined forward and up as if standing ready to reinforce the murderous effects of the other pair. Except for its excessive muscularity, the rest of the body was unceremoniously ungulate: umber-hued short-haired coat, tufted tail, four legs terminating in cloven hooves. Only the head seemed grafted and greatly enlarged. It was that of a highly specialized canine grown to obscene proportions. Docked to those massive shoulders, it appeared neckless. Bulging red eyes sweating damp murder sought quarry, while the powerful jaws worked spittle from thick lips. From the hidden throat came an abyssal, squalid gurgling as if the creature were masticating a cud consisting of the tormented remnants of previously consumed souls.

Of all the corrupt crossbreedings and odious recombinants the Dark Ones had brought forth, of all their vile manipulations and stirrings of Nature’s most personal and private depths, this was their monument most foul. Body of a mammoth steer, skull of the most relentless of fighting canines. Teeth and horn, jaw and hoof.

The pit bull-bull shook its head and spat out a sticky iron bolt. Buncan heard it go ping as it ricocheted off the stone floor. Then it glanced up, searching, until it fastened on the long-eared figure of Droww. The intimidating skull dipped respectfully.

“Master, thy servant awaits.”

Droww looked quite pleased. But his finger quivered as he pointed. “Tear ‘em up . . .but not beyond hope of restitching.”

The skull rose and turned. A humorless smile split the timber-crunching jaws. “With pleasure, Master. It is what I love to do.” It started toward the opposing staircase.

Buncan and the otters were already retreating, scrambling up the wide stone steps. As he ascended, Buncan was once again unlimbering the duar.

“C’mon, guys. A song, some lyrics; let’s get with it!”

“Wot d’you think I’m doin’, Buckles?” Neena glared at him.

Droww was laughing delightedly to himself, his acolytes having by this time retreated to a far corner. There they huddled fearfully, their eyes panicky beneath their hoods.

“No song will save you now, young tunesmiths. Nothing will save you now! No power on or off the earth can stop the Berserker!”

“Maybe not, but I’m about to give it one hell of a try!” By the time the monster mounted the final step, Snaugenhutt had mustered an impressive head of steam.

He plowed into the surprised pit bull-bull with tremendous force. The creature stumbled and slid backward several steps. Then it gathered itself, eyes raging, and lunged with incredible jaws agape.

Displaying unexpected agility, Snaugenhutt dodged. Unnatural horns dipped and shoved. The points did not penetrate the rhino’s thick skin, but the muscles behind that stabbing blow could not be resisted. Snaugenhutt’s feet scrabbled for purchase at the edge of the level overlooking the pit. With a twist of its great head, the pit bull-bull actually lifted the rhino off the floor and tossed him to his right. The distance was short, but it was enough to send the helpless Snaugenhutt over the side.

With a sound like two symphonies colliding at high speed, the rhino struck the floor of the pit. The concussion sent bits of armor flying in all directions. He lay there on his side, kicking convulsively.