The Magehound (37 page)

For a moment the fighters paused. Such creatures were fought with spells and weapons of magic, and they had none.

Andris pulled a small bottle from his bag and shouted a command. Matteo quickly lit a torch and waited until Andris and several others had tossed the contents of their bottles into the fetid water.

He dropped the torch, and the swamp gas exploded into a ring of bright flame, which quickly engulfed the water elemental. With a roar like that of an angry sea, the creature fought to beat through the flames. Its body began to dissolve with a searing hiss. Clouds of steam billowed upward. Finally the creature could take no more and disappeared back into the pool.

Matteo and Andris regarded each other somberly. “A powerful wizard could summon an elemental, but no such person could survive here for long. Yet there is much magic here,” Matteo observed.

“The water elemental was a creature of the plane of water,” Andris responded, seeing Matteo’s reasoning. “The gate must be near.”

“And likely the laraken as well. Without Tzigone to draw it away, we will have to destroy it here,” Matteo reasoned. “Then Kiva can close the gate-if that is indeed her intention.”

Andris gave him an odd look. “We should split the men into two ranks. If we spread out, we may be able to flank the laraken with an all-out attack. You take the second troop.”

They scattered into the swamp, creeping through the shallows and slipping through openings in the vines. The water became less fetid as they went, until it was as pure and clear as a mountain stream. One of the men bent to dip up some water in his cupped hands. Matteo gave him a quick jab with the blunt end of his pick, then shook his head sternly.

It was a moment’s distraction, no more. Matteo didn’t see the enormous green-black hands that slid through the curtain of vines several paces before him. But his attention snapped back when a loud ripping sound shook the swamp and echoed through him like lightning and thunder combined.

And then the laraken appeared, darting through the opening in the thick jungle vegetation.

“Mother of Mystra!” whispered Matteo.

The monster was more than twice the size of a man and hideous beyond description. Eels writhed about its huge skull like snakes on a medusa’s head. Ears more pointed than an elf’s rose on either side of a demonic face. Long, needle-sharp fangs dripped with luminous green. The laraken’s massive back was hunched, giving it a furtive appearance. But there was nothing tentative about its movements. It came on with swift, darting jolts, zigzagging like a startled lizard.

Not startled, Matteo realized. Hunting. But what the laraken needed, none of them had.

Andris gestured for the first attack. Ten of his men nocked arrows and let fly, sending them whistling about the creature’s head. The laraken swatted them aside as it might dismiss a mildly annoying swarm of gnats. The archers kept the arrows coming to distract the laraken’s attention. Ten more men darted in, their long pikes jabbing at the creature’s body. Again and again they struck, but none of the blades could pierce the thick greenish hide.

The laraken lifted an enormous clawed foot and stamped at one of the annoying spears. The weapon shattered and the laraken’s foot bore the spear wielder to the ground. The creature shifted its weight onto that foot, crushing the man with a terrible wet, popping sound. Its other foot, dexterous as a monkey’s hand, darted out and snatched up another fighter. The monster kicked out, sending the man flying toward a deep pool. Immediately the water began to roil as the jungle fish swarmed and fed. Andris called the surviving pikesmen into retreat as the laraken threw back its head and sniffed the air with a loud, grating snuffle. Its head snapped toward Andris, and it let out a shriek of triumph.

It came steadily on, swatting aside the pikesmen and archers as it advanced on Andris. Its gaunt form began to fill as it moved.

Matteo motioned to the men with him flank the creature. As he ran toward the laraken, he realized that his friend was turning pale. No, not pale-translucent! He could see the outlines of the trees behind Andris taking shape through his friend’s form.

Understanding jolted him. Kiva had spoken truth the day she took Andris from the Jordaini College. He did possess a certain innate magic, if only that sleeping in his elf blood. But that was dangerous enough, and Kiva knew it well. She sacrificed Andris to the laraken, using his battle skills for as long as they lasted.

Frantically Matteo nocked an arrow and let fly, shouting for his men to do likewise. The laraken ignored the tiny missiles. They threw their spears and pikes, but the weapons bounced off the tough hide.

Matteo redoubled his pace and sprinted over the crushed foliage that lay in the laraken’s wake. He leaped onto the creature’s prehensile tail and ran up its back, using the bumps of its spine as footholds. He hooked the fingers of his right hand over the protruding shoulder blade. With his left hand, he pulled a dagger and stabbed again and again.

He might as well have been a stirge attaching a stone tower. Not even this attack drew the laraken’s attention away from his friend.

The monster was closing fast. Andris pulled out his sword and lofted it, prepared to face the monster. He jolted as his eyes fell upon his translucent fist.

Matteo hoisted himself up to peer over the laraken’s shoulder. “Flee, Andris! Kiva has betrayed you,” he shouted desperately.

Andris met his eyes and shook his head, but he didn’t deny the truth of Matteo’s words. How could he, when he was all but transparent?

Not far away, in the tallest tree she could find, a grim-faced Tzigone watched the battle.

“Fools,” muttered Tzigone, using the old term that was strangely close to the word jordain. “Damned if those idiots weren’t well named.”

Wrath strengthened her resolve. She began to sing, calling to the laraken in a voice that echoed through the swamp and set the crystalline ghosts around her vibrating in sympathy. An eery keening filled the swamp, as if the voices of the dead joined the song in harmony. Tzigone kept on, singing in a voice that was full and rich and sure.

The laraken turned, uncertain. It began to move toward the compelling song, paying no more attention to the human on its back and the humans that pelted it with weapons than if they’d been mildly irritating flies.

Matteo let go of his hold and slid down the creature’s back. He rolled and leaped to his feet. Breaking into a run, he outpaced the laraken and spun to face it, standing directly in its path as he drew the unfamiliar long sword Andris had lent him.

The creature plunged right over him, unimpressed. Matteo fell and then leaped up, stabbing upward with all his strength.

The sword plunged into the soft hide where the leg joined the laraken’s body. With a scream like that of a titanic eagle, the laraken swiveled quickly away from the attack.

It was the worst thing it could have done, and the one thing Matteo hoped it would do. He braced the sword, holding it firm as the creature’s startled reaction tore the flesh within.

The force of the laraken’s movement ripped the sword from Matteo’s hand, but not before the damage was done.

Matteo rolled clear and came up with his daggers in hand, determined to keep the creature away from both of his friends.

Tzigone saw her own determination mirrored in Matteo’s dark eyes. She pounded the tree limb with frustration, but she kept singing. If she had her way, she would summon two dark and terrible creatures this day.

*

In a tower room in a village on the edge of the swamp, Kiva leaned over her scrying bowl and watched as the battle played out. When Matteo struck a near-fatal blow, she gasped as if her own flesh had been pierced.

She lifted anguished eyes to her wemic companion. “They might actually do it, Mbatu. They might kill the laraken.”

“That might be for the best,” the wemic said.

The elf shook her head. Her painted lips finned in determination. “Give me the portal,” she said, extending her hand.

Mbatu placed the folded silk in her hands, but his leonine face twisted with concern. “Is it safe for you to go so soon?”

She rose and stroked his mane. “What place is not safe if you are with me?”

The flattery was obvious, but still the wemic looked displeased. But he stayed at her side as she flung the silk into the air and let it envelop them both.

The air was suddenly thick and hot, heavy with the scent of battle and death. Impatiently Kiva flung aside the silk portal and reached for the spell she had so carefully prepared, a powerful casting that would close the portal and free the laraken to ravage the land and leave the treasures of Akhlaur for her to reclaim.

An anguished roar sent her spinning toward the battle, a scream that carried magic as the wind carried seeds. The fighters had learned from Matteo’s bold move, and they focused their attacks on the soft tissue beneath the creature’s arms, inside its thighs, under its tail. The laraken was weaving on its feet, bristling with arrows and spears and looking like an enormous, hideous hedgehog. But it still lived, and it slashed out wildly with its clawed hands.

Instinctively Kiva’s hand went to her leg. The creature had slashed her with those claws, tiny at the time of its birth but still sharp enough to tear down to the bone. She bore the scars still, as well as other, deeper wounds to her body and her spirit.

But it wasn’t a mother’s instinct that lured her to the laraken’s side. All Kiva knew was that the laraken was near death and that all that she had worked for was at risk.

With a terrible keening scream, the magehound summoned her magic and prepared to destroy her own army.

Tzigone heard Kiva’s cry and knew with certainty that the magehound intended yet another betrayal.

Her gaze skimmed the battlefield. Over half the fighters had fallen, but the survivors were wearing the laraken down at last. It continued to press toward her tree, compelled by the magic of her song, and each pace took it farther from the source of its power.

A shimmer of silvery motes appeared over the bubbling spring, spreading and smoothing out into a large silver form. A bucket, Tzigone realized, and she had little doubt what the magehound intended to do.

Kiva snatched the bucket from the air and dipped it into the magic-rich water. She hurried forward, ready to hurl it at the weakening laraken.

Tzigone broke off her song at last, for it was impossible to sing and curse at the same time. She squared her shoulders as she muttered a few arcane words and then flung out one hand, throwing one of the few wizard spells she knew.

A huge fireball streaked toward the elf woman, arching over the laraken’s head and trailing light like a comet. As Tzigone expected, much of the fireball’s power was siphoned off by the magic-draining monster. It fell toward Kiva, fading and shrinking dramatically until it was no larger or brighter than an orange.

But it was large enough for Tzigone’s purpose. The diminished fireball splashed into the bucket with a searing hiss. Steam rose, and water bubbled over the rim.

The elf woman shrieked and dropped the bucket, shaking her scalded hands. She whirled toward Tzigone’s tree, her wild eyes searching for her attacker. The wemic came to her side, standing ready for whatever command she gave.

Tzigone began to sing again, calling the swamp creatures to her aid. A score or so of stirges answered her call and dived at the elf woman, humming in their droning voices, a grim harmony to Tzigone’s song.

Kiva set her feet wide and delivered a series of fireballs. Each of the glowing missiles divided again and again as it flew, and the shards took off in search of the darting stirges. Giant mosquitoes sizzled and popped as the seeking fireballs found their targets. The surviving stirges scattered in frantic flight, closely pursued by balls of killing flame.

Kiva retaliated with a swift, angry gesture. A glowing arrow sizzled toward Tzigone. But it could not strike. It was no true arrow, but magical energy shaped into a bolt. It stopped short of its target, so suddenly that it seemed to splat against an invisible wall. Now shaped more like a plate than an arrow, the missile fell to the ground and seared the earth beneath it as it cooled.

Tzigone kept singing. A pair of centaurs came to her call, their thundering hooves echoing above the sound of battle. She grimaced. These creatures had little to do with men and were more likely to side with the beleaguered elf. But the centaurs took one look at the men engaging the laraken and decided that the foes of their foes were worth supporting. Leveling wooden staffs at the elf and her wemic guard, they charged forward like jousting knights.

Mbatu reached over his shoulder for his great broadsword. He thrust Kiva aside and stepped into the line of attack. With a roar, he swept his sword up in a rising circle, catching the oncoming staff and forcing it up. He reared, raking at the centaur’s chest with his forepaws.

But the centaur also reared, and his hoofs slashed and pounded at the wemic. Both combatants dropped their weapons, grappling like wrestlers with their manlike arms while pounding and lashing at each other with the weapons of lion and steed.

Mbatu leaped up, digging his hind claws deep into the centaur’s belly and pulling the massive creature down with him. The snap of the centaur’s leg sent a surge of triumph through him, and he ignored the heavy impact. He rolled aside and seized his discarded sword. As he rose beside the struggling centaur, he slashed the creature hard across its throat with one forepaw. Four deep lines opened and welled with blood.

A heavy thud jolted Mbatu. Dimly he recognized that this wasn’t the first such blow, and he whirled to face the second centaur, his sword lifted to attack.

But there was no power to his blow. Mbatu felt strangely weak, and he struggled to draw air into his aching chest. The centaur swung his staff again and smacked Mbatu hard against his flank. The wemic spat at the centaur’s hooves in defiance and noticed that his spittle was thick and red.

The wemic lifted his hand to his face. His mane was sodden with blood. The centaur’s hooves had left a deep slash on the left side of his head and removed most of one ear. In his battle lust, Mbatu hadn’t noticed.