Sea of Death (32 page)

THE SOUND OF THE IMPACT could have been heard for a quarter-mile or even farther, despite the smothering effect of the dust. The metalled head of the creature struck the long wedge of rock with such force that splinters of stone flew in all directions. It had seemed to the onlookers that the man was dead, certain prey for the hungry, onrushing dustfish, but Dohojar had fooled them and it.

The brown-skinned Changa knew exactly where the upthrust of shale was, and as the huge thing came for him, Dohojar floundered through the powdery ash and dust as quickly as he could. At the last moment he dived up and onto the shelf of rock, placing the wall of rock between himself and his pursuer. Because of the height he had to attain with his leap, all he could do was sprawl flat upon the surface, instead of being able to maintain his footing and keep running. This fact helped to save his life, because none of the flying slivers and chunks of shale could hit him when he was prone. But the dustfish had hit the wall with full force and it was in stunned agony, its writhings and thrashings spewing dust and ash up and around in a cloud. The Changa scrambled to his feet, turned back toward the injured creature, and aimed. Spurts of energy shot from the wand he still held. The convulsions of the monstrous thing doubled in intensity when the glowing streaks struck its soft hind portion.

What the western folk called a dustfish, or sometimes a dustdemon, depending on their nationality, was actually an adaptation of a millipede. The creature had grown and changed to suit its new habitat and prey. The head and first segments of the body had become more chitinous, the eyes set high upon this exoskeleton on a sort of ridge, or fin, that cut through the powdery surface of the Ashen Desert. This anatomical oddity allowed the monster good vision while it moved through the dust, even though most of its body remained beneath the surface. The remainder of its many-segmented body flattened even more along the belly portion, then humped upward along the rear area in another fin-shape that helped the creature cleave through the dust. Its many legs had become broadened and paddlelike through evolution, so that the elongated thing now "swam" through the ashy powder rather than ran upon the ground.

These mutated millipedes seldom hunted alone, instead usually traveling in packs – called schools, of course, by those who used the name "dustfish" for the creatures. When lying still, these monsters were indistinguishable from bits of rock jutting up from the floor of the wasteland. In motion, they vaguely resembled sharks cutting the surface of the sea. Anything, or almost anything, that went on the surface or dwelled just beneath it was fair game for these hungry myriapods. Certain creatures were too fierce for the dustdemons, or weren't considered tasty, but humans didn't fall into either category. The one that sought to dine upon Dohojar was a large specimen, even among the giants of its species, and as the multi-segmented body heaved upward in pain, the Changa could see much of its length – fifty or sixty feet at least.

"Poor beggar!" muttered Gord as he witnessed the splintering of the shale and the explosion of dust and ash that followed. Because of the dust that was already swirling about as Dohojar dove for safety, Gord did not see what really happened to the man, and he assumed the worst. He knew that the creature had impacted with the rock, but figured that as an indication that Dohojar had been caught and crushed at the same time and did not realize that the beast had been seriously hurt. When the dustfish began thrashing, Gord squinted to try to catch a glimpse of the Changa's body caught in the monster's jaws and being tossed around. Then he saw some faint streaks of light through the gloom of the dust cloud, but failed to see them for what they were, and the commotion became greater where the young adventurer thought his friend must be dying horribly. There was nothing he could do about it, so Gord swung his small crossbow in search of some target he could see.

That's done for one of them!" Delver boomed as his bolt sank into the multifaceted eye of an approaching dustfish. That his words were true was obvious from the effect of the missile. The creature made a screaming noise, its mandibles clattering loudly as it did so. The whole forepart of its body reared up from the dust, its legs beating the air frantically as the poison coating the shaft imbedded in its eye coursed through the monster's brain and body. As it curled upon itself in its death agony, still more dust arose to cloud the area, and the whole camp became obscured. Although two of the things had fallen, the remainder of the school was now free to attack without hindrance, for none of the beings who were the prey of these strange creatures could see to defend themselves.

Gord understood the situation immediately and tried to shout an order. "Everyone for himself! Try to-" Then his words were gone, knocked with the breath from his body. A dustfish had struck the mound of stuff he was upon, and Gord sailed through the air to fall stunned into the dust, his arbalest gone. He could just barely see the thing that had attacked him, now shaking its head to free itself from the tangles of the ruined tents. That kept the monster busy long enough for the young man to regain his footing and draw his sword and dagger – puny-looking weapons against a monster of thirty or more feet in length.

"If that ugly bastard is goin' t' eat me, I'll make sure he has a headache before I give 'im indigestion!" Delver's threat was rumbled forth amid spitting and coughing as the dwarf hauled himself up from the ashes to stand near Gord. The dwarf freed his long-handled, beak-backed hammer from his belt and gripped it with both hands. His face was grim and determined, for he knew that death was certainly imminent.

Acrobatics and agility were useless in the deep powder. Gord could do nothing more than prepare for doom as Delver did beside him. "Oh, shit, here it comes," he called to the dwarf without taking his eyes from the dustfish. The thing had thrown off the remains of the tents and was coming toward the two. The huge millipede raised its head a little to get a better view of its motionless prey, for such a static condition was unusual to the creature. Food ran, crawled, flopped, or wriggled. Things that remained motionless were either inedible or enemies… usually. The monster, instinctively cautious or perhaps confused, paused less than ten yards away from where Gord and Delver stood.

Suddenly screechings and hissings came through the air from somewhere near. The dustfish must have recognized the noises, for it began to turn toward the sounds. The movement exposed a joint between its armored segments. Gord saw the opening and took the opportunity to strike. In two quick, leaping strides, he got to a place within a few feet of the millipede's huge body – near enough to bring the longs word down upon the center of the six-foot-wide back. Aided by the momentum of his leap, Gord brought the blade down, the steel just missing two plates of thick chitin and cleaving through the tough flesh between them. The sharp edge cut through the cord of nerves that stretched from the millipede's tiny brain to the distant tip of its body. The creature's head drooped immediately, and the half-severed front part of its body flopped crazily as the tail lashed from side to side in helpless frenzy.

"Yarrgh!" Delver snarled as he too moved forward and swung his weapon. The beak of his hammer penetrated the tough exoskeleton of the dustfish's sloping head, the six-inch point imbedding itself in the brain that was already in a turmoil of confusion because its nerve link had been chopped through. The dwarf held on for dear life as the monster tried its best to cut him to ribbons with its scissoring mandibles. The haft of the hammer he clung to was just long enough to save Delver from the retaliation of the creature's death throes. The hind portion of the millipede kept jerking and twitching for a short time after the forepart was still, but this activity presented no threat.

Even as the creature's lifeless head sank into the dust, Gord was looking around anxiously in hopes of detecting another of the things before it struck by surprise. The cloud of dust and ashes was too thick to allow him to really prepare for another attack, but fortunately none came. "Delver, can you tell what's going on?" he shouted as the dwarf tugged his beaked hammer free from the now-still head.

"Like I can tell what's goin' on behind a wall o* gneiss," he called back. "Let's see what this'll do to improve my view," the dwarf added as he crawled upon the back of the dead dustfish.

"Well?" said Gord after a couple of seconds. When the dwarf ignored him, he got more emphatic. "Well, what do you see, damn it?"

"Dip me in boiling batshit!"

"I just might do that!" Gord shouted to the dwarf.

Delver turned around and grinned down at Gord, feeling good because he towered over the young man by several feet at the moment. "Those filthy great lizards – they've come back, bless 'em! I can see two or three tearin' one of those insects apart, and the rest o' the bastards seem to have swum off!"

Gord waded through shin-deep powder in the direction Delver was gazing. In a minute he could indeed see that there were several of the gwahasti intent on feeding upon a dustfish, and he thought the dark, moving shapes just beyond his clear range of sight were probably more of the reptiles at work on another of the huge millipedes. Then, as the shape of a man plodded into view on his left, Gord got an even bigger surprise.

"Gord Zehaab! You are alive!" squealed Dohojar as he closed the distance between them.

"You bet your brown ass I am, you little Changa monkey! How in the hells did you manage to survive, though?" he cried, actually hugging Dohojar as he spoke.

"Easy, Zehaab. The stupid creature smashed his head upon a big rock, and while he was trying to clear his brain, I shot him full of magic missiles from this wand… which now seems to be depleted, I am sad to report."

"Bugger the bit of bone," Gord said, grabbing the wand and tossing it into the dust. "That sort of stuff we can always get, but good men like you are irreplaceable."

Dohojar was embarrassed and delighted all at once. "Oh, no. I am of no importance at all, but I am very glad the Zehaab Captain thinks well of me."

Barrel, Post, and Smoker appeared on the scene, looking left and right in amazement. Now that the dust had mostly settled again, they could see the shapes of a pair of dead dustfish in the vicinity and two others being eaten by the hungry lizards farther off. All three of them spoke virtually at once, asking what had happened. Then Dohojar, Delver, and Gord chimed in simultaneously, each trying to tell his version of the events. Seconds later Shade came up as well and immediately began demanding to know the details.

The others didn't seem to mind the cacophony of voices, but it was too much for Gord. "As captain of this band," he shouted, "I call for silence!" The clamor subsided. "That's better. Dohojar, tell what happened to you. When he's finished, boys, Delver and I will fill you in on the action we fought. Then it'll be your turn to account – Smoker, Barrel, Post, and then Shade because he came in last."

The retelling of the fight with the dustfish was becoming a contest of exaggeration when a waddling, hissing gwahasti intervened. The big lizard was coming for its ration of salted water, and behind it were six more. One of the lizards had been killed by the dustfish as it attacked the things, but that was a part of life – and death – in the Ashen Desert. Dohojar, grinning, went to care for the reptiles, and the other six travelers watched in happy amazement as the gwahasti in order from largest to smallest opened their toothy maws to receive a squirt of the saline solution they craved. "Is that what brought them back?" Shade asked.

"Sure thing, fellow," the Changa replied, "but don't you have any curiosity about why they left us?"

"Damn lizards ran off to get water, o' course," Delver growled. It was a guess on the dwarfs part, but an accurate one – as Dohojar, his mystery spoiled, confirmed in a grumpy tone.

"Let's get going, then," said Gord. "We could all use a drink ourselves, eh, boys?"

"Not yet, Zehaab," Dohojar cautioned. "The gwahasti will want to sleep now." And sleep they did, refusing to be roused until the sun was an hour high on the horizon. That gave the group time to get their camp equipment in order, and Gord was happy to find that the tough, gwahasti-hide tents were relatively undamaged from their encounter with the dustfish.

The lizards, watered and satiated with enough food to last them for days, were slow and moved with a lot of hissing and grumbling as they carried their riders to the place where they had found water. None of the travelers minded the delay, though. These creatures had done far more than simply return to lead them to water – the gwahasti had most assuredly saved men, half-elf, and dwarf from being eaten by the monstrous millipedes.

"I don't suppose I'll ever be able to love those musty-smelling blasters," Smoker said with feeling, "but I'll sure as hell have a fond spot in my heart for all gwahasti from now on!" Everyone laughed at that and chimed in with their own expressions of appreciation, and the trek to the waterhole was a cheerful ride.

The place was a deep pool that had formed in a rocky pocket. It was fed from a spring that bubbled up from the strata of stone below, keeping the water clear and fresh despite constant infusions of dust and ash. The latter came from a huge volcano, just dimly visible on the far horizon, scores of miles distant but still close enough. The travelers knew then that they had finally come within sight of the Inferno Peaks, and the worst of their journey was over. By riding directly toward the smoking cone for all of the next day, the seven were at the foothills of the range of volcanic peaks and jagged ridges before dark. The next morning they turned the lizards to the north, skirting the worst ground as they sought a likely-looking way to get through the rugged mountains.

"There!" boomed Delver after a few hours of searching. "That defile is the way we must take." The others were willing to trust the dwarfs instincts, and besides that they were very anxious to leave the Ashen Desert behind. Gord was as hopeful and excited as any of them, but decided they could all spare a couple of hours in the interest of caution and safety. He directed Delver and Smoker to try the pass, traveling into the mountains for an hour and then returning. In the meantime, everyone else unloaded the gwahasti and, since it was close to midday, allowed them to burrow in for their customary slumber.