Ascendancy of the Last - By Lisa Smedman Page 0,47
to Kâras’s nostrils as his mount crossed the moat. Soon it was replaced by the fetid stench of the manure in House Philiom’s mushroom fields. The riders poured out of the black spire that was House Philiom’s keep, their riding lizards’ clawed feet sending up a splattering of mud that fouled the hems of their robes. Startled slaves rose from their mushroom picking to watch the mounts pass.
Kâras wheeled his lizard past the slave hovels, blinking away smoke from the smudge fires the slaves used to keep midges at bay. Soon the hovels fell behind. The riders emerged onto the wide expanse of silt that covered the floor of the low-ceilinged cavern. As their lizards scuttled forward in a blur of legs and claws, the priests gibbered the name of their god, spittle flying from their lips.
“Ghaunadaur who lurks, Ghaunadaur who sees, GhaunaŹdaur who devours.”
Kâras mouthed the refrain without giving voice to it. The harsh chirps and hisses of the lizards and the wet slap of clawed feet through mud masked his silence.
He marveled at the contrast. In other cities, merely speakŹing the Ancient One’s name aloud resulted in immediate retribution. Here in Llurth Dreir, it was a different story. Lolth’s temples had been scoured clean when an avatar of the Ancient One had risen from Llurthogl, consumed Lolth’s faithful, and descended again. Over the centuries since, there had been frequent “spawnings”eruptions of oozes, slimes, and slugsensuring that Lolth’s clergy didn’t return. At the moment, thankfully, the lake was still and quiet. Its scum-covered surface lay undisturbed, apart from the occasional bubble of foul-smelling gas.
Kâras unwound the tentacles from his body and let them trail behind him as he rode. He wheeled his mount with the others as they turned to the black spire of rock that was House Abbylan’s keep. Slave hovels fringed the base of it. As the riders drew near the outermost of these shanties, figures scattered like spiders from a torn egg sac. Goblins, kobolds, and orcseven a handful of pale-skinned humansflailed through the mud in a panic. Beyond them, House Abbylan’s soldiers poured oil through slits in the keep, to prevent the attackers’ lizards from scaling its walls.
The priests rode the slaves down, lashing out with their whiplike rods. Slaves collapsed as the tentacles struck them, magic turning muscle to jelly, or loosing a spray of slime that blinded and maimed. Some of the slaves stood dazed and staring, their wits sucked out by the lashing rods. Others leaped, screaming, from tentacles that left bands of fire across their flesh.
Kâras lashed out with his rod, the unfamiliar weapon awkward in his grip. By mere chance, he struck a kobold with a tentacle The tiny reptilian squeaked in agony as its bones and cartilage turned as cold as ice, sending it into a stiff-limbed tumble.
Molvayas chanted a gurgling prayer. Rubbery black tenŹtacles, as tall as saplings, sprang from the mud in a long line that extended back to House Philiom’s keep. Like slaves pickŹing mushrooms, they plucked the fallen from the mud and passed them back, tentacle to tentacle, toward the keep.
The Gathering had begun.
A gong sounded from the top of the nearby keep. Low and shuddering, it boomed once, twice, thrice. House Abbylan’s drawbridge crashed down, sending up a spray of mud. Lizard-mounted ridersgarbed in identical tabards, but with green robes instead of purpleraced from the keep.
“Consume them!” Molvayas cried.
Riders slammed spike-spurs into their mounts, sending them leaping at the enemy. Spells flew thick and fast between the slave hovels as the rival groups battled. A roiling wave of conjured slime smashed one of the huts flat and broke against the mount of one of House Philiom’s priests. The lizard convulsed, thrashing its tail in agony, but the priest went down laughing, his arms waving above his head as he sang his god’s name. A heartbeat later, a dark purple boil burst up through the slime, assumed the vague outline of a drow, and staggered on quivering legs toward the nearest enemy. It wrapped its “arms” around that rider’s mount. As the lizard collapsed, its body dissolving, another of House Philiom’s priests launched a spell that imploded the rider’s head.
Kâras spurred his mount between two of the slave hovels, seeking refuge. As soon as he reached a point where the others couldn’t see him, he reined his mount to a halt. He threw down his tentacle rod and whispered a prayer to the Masked Lady, healing his frost-burned thumb.