"I've just been bitten again," Geldon grumbled.
The side of his neck began to itch, and he scratched it. He could feel the usual bump on the skin begin to rise. He had been bitten several times since coming to live in Eutracia, and he found it annoying.
"What is it that they call these things again?" he asked.
In between bites of the venison, Ox grinned.
"They be derma-gnashers," he answered. "They be pesky, but they not be dangerous."
"Wigg and Faegan should rid the land of these nuisances," Geldon groused as he settled back down against the log. He scratched his neck again. Attempting to ignore the bite, he turned his attention back to the warrior playing the lyre and reciting the love poems.
As he did, a warrior walked up and tossed another log upon their fire. Geldon said good night and retired to his tent. Full of meat and swill, Ox happily fell asleep by the fire. Several hours passed as the moons chased each other across the sky.
But when the screaming started the entire camp came alive.
Ox was on his feet immediately. He turned around, frantic, unable to find the source of the noise. Then Geldon came tearing out of his tent. His eyes bulged; his face was so red Ox thought it might burst. In his hand he held a dagger, which he waved all about like a madman. He was only half clothed.
Glaring at the warriors, he began screaming vulgar, insulting epithets at them. Ox and the others simply stood there, staring at him. Never in their lives had they seen anyone in command of the Minions act this way. It seemed that the dwarf had suddenly gone insane.
Geldon's rantings became even more abusive. He waved the knife faster. Uncertainly, Ox took a tentative step forward. Holding the knife higher, Geldon backed away like a cornered animal.
"What be wrong?" Ox asked, holding out his hands. He looked Geldon up and down again. "You be ill?"
"No, I'm not ill, you winged moron!" Geldon snarled at him. Reaching up, he wiped some of the sweat from his face. A bit of foam dripped from one corner of his mouth. Then a wicked smile came.
"And none of you abominations of the craft can stop me! If any of you come closer, I'll kill you all, I swear it!"
More confused than ever, Ox searched Geldon's face. It was the face of one who had lost all reason.
"What you want do?" the great warrior asked.
Geldon lowered the knife for a moment and a brief look of calm passed over him.
"All I want you to do is watch, you ignorant bastards," he hissed.
"Watch and remember."
Before Ox could move, Geldon raised his dagger and plunged it into his own right eye.
He didn't scream, tremble, or complain. As the fluid from his injured eye snaked down his cheek, the other eye closed, and he began to fall forward.
He was dead before he hit the ground.
CHAPTER XXIX
Tristan watched anxiously as the black iron door, creaking on its hinges, grudgingly opened in response to Wigg's azure bolts. Complete darkness reigned on the other side. No sound came from the depths.
The prince, Alrik, and Celeste waited for Wigg to lead them in, but the wizard showed no signs of moving. Tristan narrowed his eyes to try to see into the room beyond, but nothing was visible in the inky darkness. Awaiting their orders, the rest of the warriors stood staunchly behind them in the knee-deep ash. Wigg finally turned to face everyone.
"I suspect that there will be enchanted lamps in there, just as there were here," he whispered. "After I light them I will go in first-followed by Celeste, then the prince, and finally the warriors." Tristan started to object, but Wigg quickly raised his hand, cutting him off.
"If I am correct and these were once Failee's personal research chambers, then there are bound to be safeguards of some sort. I want Celeste to follow me because of her prowess with throwing azure bolts. Magic will be far more effective in this place than any metal weapon ever made, I assure you!" Then he looked past Tristan to his daughter.
"Sheathe your sword," he whispered. "It will only interfere with your use of the craft." Celeste did as she was told.
Wigg turned back to face the darkness. Raising his arms, he called the craft again. Light slowly began to build on the other side of the door and gradually flooded out over the dark gray ash. Wigg carefully walked through the door. The others followed close behind.
Tristan felt as if he had been here before. But that was impossible, he thought, as he looked around. Then he realized why it all felt so familiar: the place was like a miniature version of the Archives of the Redoubt.
The room was large; its ceiling very high. Several closed doors were visible in its stone walls. The many wall sconces Wigg had illuminated burned brightly, giving everything an eerie, almost sterile feel.
Lining the walls were tall bookcases packed with texts, scrolls, and parchments. Worktables sat here and there littered with tools of the craft: tubes, beakers, and charts of esoteric symbols. The air was dusty and dank.
Walking over to what had apparently been Failee's desk, Wigg sadly ran one of his long fingers across the wood. His fingertip traced a telltale line in the dust. He sighed, and a distinct shininess appeared in his eyes. But, true to form, he collected himself. Placing his hands into the opposite sleeves of his robes, he lifted his head and resumed his examination of the room.
Tristan couldn't quite escape the feeling that there was something wrong about the room, as if significant parts of the puzzle were still missing. He lowered his dreggan and, accompanied by Celeste, walked over to Wigg.
"Are you thinking the same thing that I am?" he asked.
Wigg pursed his lips. "If you're saying that there must be more to all of this than just what we see here, then, yes, I am," he said. Wigg looked over at one of the closed doors in a far wall. "Our search for this so-called Scroll Master may prove to take far longer than we imagined-if he is here at all. There is no telling how large this place might be."
Suddenly, with a great bang, the door they had used to enter the room swung shut. Several warriors ran to it and tried to pry it open again, but even their combined strength couldn't budge it. A terrible stench filled the air.
Glowing azure ooze began to run from the gaps between the walls' stone blocks. As more and more of it appeared, the awful stench, like that of decaying flesh, became overpowering. Transfixed, they watched as winding rivulets of the stuff snaked to the floor and gathered into separate, undulating puddles.
The ooze kept coming. A few puddles became dozens of pools, and the smell became so unbearable that Tristan placed his free hand over his nose and mouth. It did little to help.
Stunned, he looked at Wigg. The wizard's face was white. Pointing toward the mysterious puddles, Wigg snapped his head toward Celeste.
"Use your bolts!" he shouted. "Destroy the pools! If they all come to life in this enclosed space we will never make it out alive!"
Raising his arms, Wigg sent bolts flying against the largest pool, which exploded into nothingness. Then he attacked another, and another. Celeste did the same. The bolts flying from her fingertips were even more explosive and earsplitting than her father's. But as Tristan struggled to look through the haze created by the powerful bolts, his heart sank.
More puddles were continuing to form on the floor. There was no way that Wigg and Celeste would be able to destroy them all.
Motioning to his warriors to stand just behind him, Tristan grasped his dreggan with both hands, spread his legs slightly, and raised the heavy sword over his head.
The first puddle took shape, a head rising up from the undulating ooze. It glowed azure, just like the pool that was giving it birth. The head was long with a curved snout and slanted, yellow eyes with black irises. Leathery wings sprouted from the spiny back; its body was squat and powerful. A snaking, forked tail whipped back and forth, and short, humanlike arms sprouted from either side of its torso. Hands formed, and then powerful rear legs, and the creature stood up ominously to face them.