Son of Thunder (34 page)

In that moment, the barbarian and the dwarf assaulted them with full strength. Their swords found critical places, and they made short work of their foes. Puddles of blood collected on the red carpet.

“This is the way out,” said Hurd, pointing to the large doors. “If you want to leave…”

“Why would I?” asked Sungar. “Most likely Geildarr’s up there.” He pointed to the wide stairway leading upward. Hurd bent over to pick up the head of a Lord’s Man, hacked from his shoulders by Sungar’s sword. He tossed it up at the painting and it bounced off, leaving a red smear across Geildarr’s smiling face. He and Hurd ran up the stairs, leaving bloody footprints on the carpet.

Soon they found the narrow dining hall where Geildarr had met with Sungar to taunt him. Huge paintings hung on the walls, and white linen covered the long table. The chair at the end of the table had iron restraints built into it. All was lit by a magical white sphere floating in the center of the ceiling.

Standing on top of the table was a figure familiar to them both, lithe and slender, dressed in black and holding a leveled crossbow. Sungar knew her face from the night of the attack on his camp. She was the one who had captured him.

Hurd’s lip curled into a smile. “We meet again,” he said, brandishing his sword.

Ardeth returned his smile and raised her crossbow. Hurd dodged wildly, and the quarrel zipped past him. Sungar jumped onto the table, his feet skidding on the tablecloth. Almost losing his balance, he swung his sword horizontally at Ardeth. She deftly leaped into the air over the blade, flipping backward to land on the chair Geildarr had sat in when taunting Sungar. She leaped again just as Sungar’s sword came down, digging deep into the chair’s wooden back.

In midair, with the heavy crossbow still in one hand, Ardeth planted a foot against a wall and pushed off, turning to plant her other foot on Sungar’s shoulder. Though she was light, the force sent him tumbling away from the embedded sword, off the table, and into the opposite wall.

Hurd snatched up a chair and threw it, striking Ardeth just as her feet touched down on the table. The chair cracked on impact, sending Ardeth tumbling off the table and into a far corner. Her head slammed hard against the wall with an audible smack. She lost her crossbow, which struck the wall and broke apart, landing near her on the floor.

Hurd dashed around to confront Ardeth where she lay near the manacled chair. Seeing her lying limp and dazed in the corner, Hurd raised his sword above his head and ran toward her with surprising speed for his short stature, hoarsely crying, “For Trice Dulgenhar! For Gorm Gulythn!”

But as Hurd came closer, he saw a devious twinkle in Ardeth’s eye. She slid her hand into the wreckage of her crossbow and came away with a closed fist. She leaped to her feet and charged in the raging dwarf’s direction, using her remarkable speed to duck under his sword as he tried to bring it down upon her. In her fist she grasped a single crossbow bolt, which she drove into one of Hurd’s eyes. Having penetrated it, she placed her palm on the bolt and drove it into Hurd’s brain.

The dwarf’s sword fell to the carpet, and his good eye blinked, then stared dully.

Sungar rose to his feet. Seeing Hurd’s lifeless body collapsing to the floor, he gripped the hilt of the sword, still embedded in the chair, and twisted sideways. The wood snapped and cracked, and Sungar pulled the weapon free. Spinning to face Ardeth, his rage redoubled and he saw something new on her face—fear.

Before she could reach Hurd’s sword, Sungar jumped up, planting his feet on the table with such impact that the whole room trembled. Ardeth skipped away, just before Sungar swung the sword at her from atop the table, slicing through a painting on the wall. Ardeth stopped just before the open door through which Sungar and Hurd had entered.

Her chest visibly rising and falling, she stood like a frightened animal, unsure of what to do next. Sungar stood atop the table, sword ready, waiting for her next move. She was a dangerous enemy, he knew, and an intelligent one. Hurd died because he attacked her in anger, and Sungar would not make the same mistake.

Ardeth turned her back to Sungar, ready to run out of the open door. Sungar moved to follow her, but at the last moment she turned back, pulled into a somersault, and rolled under the table. Sungar plunged his sword downward with all his strength. It sank through the wood, and Sungar put all his weight behind it until it was buried hilt-deep in the table.

All was silent. The magical light above the table trembled, casting nervous shadows over the room.

Sungar jumped off the table, snapping up the sword that Hurd had wielded. He looked under the table, where the darkness was deep. The sword Sungar had impaled in the table was close to touching the floor, but no one was there.

Ardeth was gone.

Vell urged his behemoth form forward through the streets of Llorkh. To his left, he heard a massive crash and hoped that Thanar and Draf were destroying the barracks and any Lord’s Men who were still inside. He hoped the two of them would escape with their lives.

Vell seemed to have left the Lord’s Men behind. Rarely, a soldier would dare cross his path, but the streets were mostly empty as he continued his dauntless plunge toward the Lord’s Keep. In the buildings around him, he occasionally glimpsed terrified townsfolk peering out at him.

Half a dozen strange dogs appeared in the street before him, unlike any Vell had seen before. These curs were slightly larger than the dogs or wolves he knew, wiry and muscular, with fur the color of rust. But their eyes glowed fire, and their hideous faces had such unearthly looks that Vell knew they could not be of this world. Hell hounds, he realized.

More hounds joined the small pack, and together they ran at Vell, leaping and snarling, plumes of fire emerging from their mouths. Vell stamped his feet, trying to trample them, but the hell hounds nimbly dodged, snapping at his legs and feet where they could. Each time they sank their jaws into his flesh, a jolt of pain shot up his leg.

In the middle of the Central Square, Kellin froze, her head spinning as her spell to erase Geildarr’s magic collapsed in her mind. She turned to stare a hell hound directly in its blazing eyes. It leaped on her, its huge fore-paws striking her shoulders and smashing her against the stone post. Her arms flew back, nearly striking the deadly chains. She smelled the sulfurous stink of the hell hound’s mouth as its huge jaws snapped at her neck.

Desperately, Kellin kneed the beast in its underbelly, and as it yelped from the blow, she grasped it around the middle, her hands clawing into its matted fur. With all her strength she flung the dog sideways, hurling it onto one of the chains tethering the behemoths. The hell hound bayed in agony as the magic of the chain melted its flesh. The air filled with the acrid scent of burning fur. The hell hound bounded upward, almost regaining its footing before Kellin drew her sword and slashed through the air. It caught the hound through its muzzle, cleaving its skull apart.

Brazen barks sounded across the square as three more hell hounds entered, running toward Kellin. She extended a finger and conjured four cold blue pellets of magic. They coursed across the square and struck one of the hell hounds, but it kept running. Kellin looked toward the other streets leading out of the square, but hell hounds burst from them as well. She pressed her back to the post, held her sword ready, and awaited the assault.

Not far from the Lord’s Keep, Thluna ducked into an alley as a trio of hell hounds rushed by. He hated hiding from an enemy, but knew it was only prudent. Lanaal was fetching another flask of alchemist’s fire that she had stolen from a local shop and hidden on the rooftops of Llorkh. Her destination was the guard contingent in front of the Lord’s Keep. The fire, they hoped, would occupy the guards, and allow Thluna entrance.

Hell hounds seemed to have the full run of the city, tearing through anything that stood in their way. Thluna slaughtered two with the axe, but the beasts were ripping away at the behemoths wherever they found them. He feared for Kellin, for he could see that the behemoths in the square were not yet free of their bonds.

Thluna heard a strange sound in the dirt beneath him. He looked down just in time to see a hole open at his feet. Thick-clawed hands reached out and grasped him by his legs. He caught a glimpse of a creature like a giant badger—its black-furred snout covered with dirt—just before it pulled and yanked him off his feet.

Thluna fell, grasping the axe tightly in his hands. He kicked his feet hard but it was no help; he was being dragged down into a burrow. The creature dragged him farther and farther until his head was pulled into the hole, his mouth filling with dirt. Thluna kicked and struggled madly. He punched and scraped at the dirt, widening the burrow’s entrance to give himself enough room to swing his weapon.

Choking on dirt, Thluna gripped the axe by the end of its handle, managing an unwieldy swing downward. The axe head sank into the dirt, and as the groundling tried to pull him farther, Thluna swung again and again, with as much strength as he could manage. The groundling gripped his legs tighter, its badger-claws digging into flesh, just as the axe broke through the earth, sinking into the creature’s head.

Feeling the claws yield their grip on his legs, Thluna released the axe. His muscles strained as he dragged himself free of the burrow. Gasping heavily, he brushed clumps of dirt from his face. Down the street, he heard a small explosion and the crackle of fire, followed by the screams of men.

Thank you Lanaal, he thought, as he spat dirt from his mouth.

Rask Urgek blinked his huge behemoth eyes, trying desperately to hang on to the threads of his mind. As a rare half-orc born to half-orc parents, he had never felt torn between two worlds. Throughout his tangled history and variety of identities—Zhent caravan guard, thug in the employ of the Xanathar’s Thieves Guild, mercenary for hire, Tree Ghost adoptee—he had always had at least some idea of who he was. Now, in this animal body, he felt his identity slipping away like dew in the sunlight. This beast form was seductive in its immensity and power. He felt a strong temptation to cast off the troubles of the civilized world, where Rask had lived on the margins most of his life, and even shrug off his duties and responsibilities with his adopted tribe. O, to be a beast!

As he clung to his consciousness, he wondered whether being in this city again played a part in his mental crisis. Every corner of Llorkh reeked with unpleasant memories for Rask, and walking the streets again brought them all flooding back. They fueled his rage but impaired his reason. The smell of the streets was the same, except now it was tinged with the foul stink of sulfur.

A dozen or more hell hounds pursued him, close enough to snap at his tail. They must have come from the underlevels of the Dark Sun, Rask knew, where Mythkar Leng bred them for dark purposes. Leng still stalked Rask’s darkest dreams, his gray eyes peering from the front of the temple, seeing through his feigned faith in Cyric.

The Dark Sun. Did he have the power to destroy it?

Rask could make out its single spire from where he stood, and he turned a corner and galloped toward it, his skin crawling with anger. The street trembled as he ran, stampeding through the Merchant District and crushing caravans as if they were egg shells. As the dark cathedral grew closer, the hell hounds on his trail increased in number.

The Central Square was alive with hell hounds, growling, leaping, and barking. They avoided the deadly chains crisscrossing the square, even when the behemoths lifted their feet and pulled the chains higher. The dogs surrounded Kellin as she fended them off with her father’s sword and her spells. The fiery blasts from their mouths were unrelenting, and she was wounded and exhausted. Backed against the post, with hounds snarling at her on all sides and bounding over her head to attack from above, Kellin knew she had little hope of defeating them.

The ground shook as a behemoth stormed into the square. Its vast bulk traveled with remarkable speed and care, and it reared back and slammed its front feet down on the hell hounds that harried Kellin, crushing them beneath its great weight. Those massive feet landed mere inches from Kellin, and the vibrations rattled her brain. The remaining hell hounds jumped at the impact, many onto the deadly chains.

Kellin watched as the behemoth transformed, its vast size melting. Soon, standing before her was the green-robed druid Thanar.

“I’ve never been more grateful to see you,” she said.

“Nor I you,” he answered. He smiled in wonder, looking around at the chained behemoths crowding the square.

Kellin asked, “How are the others?”

“Hengin fell, and so did Draf.” He lowered his head. “The soldiers tore Draf down as we were toppling the city barracks.”

“And Vell? What of Vell?”

“I do not know,” said Thanar. “Can we free the captives?” he asked, looking up at the trapped behemoths.

Kellin nodded at the post. “Its enchantment is strong, but perhaps we can overcome it together.”

Both of them placed their hands over the stone post and began to concentrate, pouring all their energy into dissolving Geildarr’s magic.

Rask’s feet burned as he raced through the streets of Llorkh, the infernal dogs at his heels. With his gargantuan strides, he quickly reached his destination. The Dark Sun stood before him—the huge, purple-walled church raised after the Time of Troubles to the glory of Cyric.

In Rask’s mind he was a small child again, flogged by Leng as Cyricists looked on and smiled. He felt each lash again, ripping his flesh.

The huge doors to the Dark Sun were closed. Rask pounded them with his huge forelegs until they flew off their hinges. As a behemoth, he shouldered his way inside, dozens of hell hounds following him.

The church trembled at his entry. Pillars shook, and shocked Cyricists darted and dived for cover as the behemoth rushed in. The temple could barely contain Rask, even with its enormous size. His head bumped the ebon ceiling, and he thrashed his tail at the jawless skulls staring at him from every wall. The hell hounds raced into the temple and dashed around Rask, howling and yipping, breathing flames, snapping at him, ripping away flesh in their fiery jaws. The priests of Cyric unleashed their cruel magic upon him.