neetha Napew - Son Of Spellsinger

Poor old thing, ‘Us all alone

Notbin’ else like it anywhere

Like to throw it a bone

But I hate to stare

Someone oughta care, it needs to rest

Be best, be safe, don’t wanna berate

But that anger you need to stick in a crate

And relax, take a pill, chill

lake some time your own dreams to fulfill.”

The spellsong was full of anger (it was rap, after all), but also loneliness and yearning, a yearning after stability that particularly escaped one inhabitant of that chaotic chamber. It expressed desire and want for the unobtainable, for half-forgotten dreams. Back on his feet at the bottom of the pit, Snaugenhutt too was caught up in the harmonic web of melancholy Buncan and the otters wove. No one within listening range remained unaffected. Even some of the Dark Ones unwillingly found themselves drawn to bygone memories.

Sweating profusely, Buncan played on, watching the pit bull-bull as it glared down at him.

It took a defiant step forward . . . and paused, bastard ears pricked forward. Spears it could disregard, arrows it could shrug off, swords it could shun, but it could not ignore the music. As Buncan stared, the fiery eyes seemed to dim and glaze over. The dark red tongue, a slimy hunk of drooling meat, slipped out the side of the powerful jaws and hung dangling from the misshapen mourn.

As the mountain-with-teeth sat back on its hindquarters and began to pant contentedly, an unmistakable if slightly obtuse canine smile spread slowly across its hideous face. As the otters continued to improvise, this was shortly replaced with an expression of great sadness framed by tears as profound emotions penetrated the benumbed berserker brain. The great jaws no longer snapped hungrily. Eyes half shut, swaying slowly in time to the music, it continued to listen and absorb and be affected.

Amazing the results thoughtful modifications to a simple tune could have, Buncan mused.

By the time they embarked on then- fourteenth improvised stanza, the great creature was lying on its belly, eyes closed, that nightmare skull resting peacefully on crossed forehooves. For the first time in its tormented existence, it was at peace. Every .now and then it emitted a distinct, soft whimper and wagged its composite tail.

Exhausted but quietly exultant, the otters terminated their most recent and final refrain. Duncan’s fingers plucked conclusively at the duar. Except for the futile howls of the sorcerer Droww and the echo of distant fighting, it was silent in the chamber. The soft snores of the soundly sleeping pit bull-bull drifted contentedly ceilingward.

Enraged and frustrated beyond reason, Droww wrenched a saber from one of his startled acolytes and rushed around the rim of the pit to confront Buncan. His duar secured, Buncan stood his ground, awaiting the charge with his own sword drawn.

The sorcerer made a pretense of swinging his weapon, then leaped into the air and struck out with both enormous feet. Buncan proved more agile than his opponent expected, but then, he’d spent years tussling with otters. At the last instant, he ducked. Droww sailed over him . . .

. . . to land with both feet, hard, on the head of the softly dozing pit bull-bull.

Awaking with a snort, it instantly espied the cause of the interruption of the first sound sleep it had ever enjoyed, and growled warningly.

Fumbling with his robes, Droww stumbled to his feet and thrust a shaky finger at Buncan. “Kill them. Kill all of them!

Start with that one. Don’t worry about preserving body parts for recombination. Shred him slowly. Pick him apart.”

The pit bull-bull rose to all four feet. Buncan began backing away slowly. But it did not come for him. It did not move at all.

Droww whirled and waved both arms emphatically. “What’s the matter widi you? Obey! Comply! By the gnarly DNA, I command you! By the genetic bonds and Mendelian Progression, by diploid dupes and haploid hopes, I order you to do my will!” Snarling deep in its throat, the ungulate ogre was slowly advancing on the irate sorcerer, pressing him relentlessly toward the edge of the pit.

“Stay back!” There was confusion in Droww’s voice and, for the first time, a hint of fear. “I will have you respliced!”

Two of Wurragarr’s people, an ax-wielding bandicoot and a sword-armed ringtail, stood entranced in the far doorway. The other Dark Ones likewise looked on in fascination and horror, unable or unwilling to interfere. Mowara and Viz rested on Snaugenhutt’s back, while the otters had moved to stand next to Buncan.

Droww glanced over his shoulder. He could probably survive a leap to the pit floor below, but an angry rhino awaited him mere. Snaugenhutt was nearsighted but not blind. His attention was fixed eagerly on the retreating sorcerer. One heavy foot pawed expectantly at the stone.

The long-eared wizard turned back to his grandest experiment, his greatest achievement. “Stop, I say. You will come no farther.” With a threatening snarl, the pit bull-bull took another step forward.

Despairing at the uncooperativeness of an indifferent universe, the sorcerer whirled and leaped for the pit, preferring to take his chances with the aggressive but awkward rhinoceros below. He never got the chance.

Lightning-fast jaws lunged and snapped. With a crisp, piercing crunch, Droww vanished into the mouth of the being he had caused to come into existence. A couple of cursory chews, a prodigious swallow, and just like that the sorcerer was gone. A few bones, a little blood, some shredded robes clung to the pit bull-bull’s lips: meager legacy for so much evil.

Duncan glanced at his friends. “I think it’s time for us to leave.”

The massive misplaced canine skull swung ‘round to peer in their direction. Then it leaped . . . not toward them, but across the wide gulf that was the pit, clearing it easily. It was an astonishing demonstration of physical prowess. As it landed heavily on the far side, the remaining Dark Ones scattered for their lives. The offspring of their inimical interference pursued energetically.

Snaugenhutt mounted the steps that led out of the pit, whereupon they all conferenced with the two fighters who had arrived moments earlier. Resistance within the monastery had begun to break down. As soon as word reached the remaining defenders that Droww had been killed and the pit bull-bull was on the loose and looking to revenge itself against its former masters, it would doubtless collapse.

The bandicoot and ringtail rushed out to inform their companions of what had transpired within. As soon as the information reached Wurragarr, he ordered a general pull-back. The victorious but spent fanners and craftsfolk retreated through the shattered gate to the fringe of the forest, leaving the terminal cleansing of the monastery to the rampaging pit bull-bull.

Overcoming their initial distaste, they eventually welcomed the grotesque but pitiable Cilm into their company, as they did all those refugees from the abode of the Dark Ones who made it out alive, repenters and innocents alike. Within the high walls terrible screams and piercing shrieks attested to the remorseless activity of the pit bull-bull as it revenged itself against its creators. Fires were beginning to break out among the stark structures as lamps and torches were toppled in the ongoing frenzy.

“What’ll happen to the canine-thing?” In the flickering light Snaugenhutt’s bulk looked as if it had been hewn from granite. Gragelouth stood nearby, talking trade with a casual cus-cus.

“I don’t know.” Buncan leaned against the rhino’s flank for support as he stared at the engulfed monastery. “But I don’t think it’ll come after us. Maybe it’ll stay with, live within the rains. Maybe it’ll remember the song we sung it and be comforted a little. Eventually I hope it’ll make peace with the people who live around here. After all, it was one of them once. Several of them.”