Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,13

or … something.

A bubble of glowing lava rose in the crevice. It oozed upward until it was no more than a pace below her boots.

Ooze.

The word was important.

Leliana gritted her teeth and fought the confusion that bubbled through her mind. She managed to coordinate her motions enough to thrust out a hand, and she felt Naxil grasp it. He pulled her up and out, tried and failed to force her feet to the floor, then gave up and fumbled at her hand. What was he doing—trying to steal her ring?

The lava reached the top of the crevice and started to flow out of it, onto the floor.

“We’ve got to hurry,” he said in an urgent voice. “Go back the way we came. The lava’s rising.” He forced her hand around the hilt of her sword and yanked the weapon from its scabbard.

The sword pealed. The magical confusion fell away.

“That’s not lava!” Leliana shouted, as realization dawned. “It’s an ooze. Filled with molten fire and capable of enchantŹments.” She negated the ring’s magic and found her feet. She was furious with herself. If she’d been holding her singŹing sword when she crossed the crevice, this never would have happened.

“How do we fight it?” Naxil asked.

“Let me handle it. Keep behind me.”

As Naxil danced back, the ooze cast an enchantment. Leliana felt it as a wave of exhaustion. Just as her eyes closed, the singing sword pealed loud and long, jolting her awake. She heard a sigh behind her, then a thump: Naxil, collapsing on the floor. She glanced back, praying he was still alive. There was no time to check, however.

The ooze surged out of the crevice in slow, rippling waves. It was enormous, twice as wide as Leliana was tall. It moved across the floor like molten iron, folding upon itself in wrinkles as it flowed forward. Its skin was a thick, clear membrane, cracked in places. Liquid fire dribbled from the cracks.

She lifted her sword. “You don’t frighten me,” she said aloud. The ooze was a mindless thing, and wouldn’t underŹstand, but saying it helped steady her.

The ooze bulged, forming an appendage.

Leliana chanted a prayer and released her sword. Borne by magic, it flew at the ooze and slashed at the expanding bulge. Magical steel met glowing fire and sliced neatly through it. The creature blazed like a bellows-driven fire as a portion of its “limb” fell away. Molten fire flowed from the wound, puddling on the cavern floor. Even protected by her spell, Leliana felt its heat as her chain mail warmed to an almost unbearŹable temperature. Sweat trickled down her body in rivulets, and into her eyes. Her singing sword glowed with heat; she was glad she wasn’t holding it.

The creature flicked its severed appendage. Tiny drops of molten fire flew through the air, splattering Leliana. She gasped as they stung her arms and face. Like the acid burns, these she could heal with Eilistraee’s blessing. Eventually. For now, she’d have to ignore the pain as best she could.

Then the ooze bulged in a second attack.

Leliana ducked just in time. Her sword parried, lopping off the second appendage—but not quickly enough. It slapped against Naxil’s prone form, even as her sword severed it.

Naxil awoke, screaming.

Leliana swore. She pressed home the fight, menacing the ooze with her sword. As it drew back, she glanced anxiously at the screaming Naxil. What she saw made her shudder. Splatters of molten rock streaked his chest where the ooze had struck him, and were burning through his leather armor. Despite his magical protection, the molten rock had already charred deep ruts in the armor—and was burning down into his skin.

“Hang on, Naxil!” she cried. “Just a few moments more.”

Leliana thrust at the ooze with her sword, worrying the creature and forcing it back to the crevice. Molten fire dribbled from each puncture.

Her piwafwi had been smoldering since the droplets of lava had struck it. Now the fabric ignited. Cursing, she slapped out the tiny flames. Then she smiled, as an idea struck her.

Keeping the ooze at a distance with her animated sword, she yanked off her smoldering piwafwi. She rushed the ooze, gritting out a prayer, and hurled the piwafwi onto it. As the garment landed on the ooze and burst into flame, she comŹpleted her spell.

“Eilistraee, aid me! Lend these flames the moon’s chill light.”

The flames dancing across the burning piwafwi turned from fire red to ice blue. The bitterly cold flames burned into the creature, punching a cold, dark hole