So much for stealth, thought Jozan as he clambered down the hill. A vinelike tendril stuck out of the cave entrance and Jozan immediately recognized that there were eyes on the end of the stalk. He smashed it with his mace and praised Pelor as some of the monster's life-fluid splashed out.
Alhandra was right beside him. Her sword glistened and whistled toward the same spot where Jozan had just struck the monster, slicing away portions of flesh as neatly as a fishmonger might filet his catch. But she involuntarily took a step back as the bloated rock dweller lifted its great jaws out of the cave entrance.
"It's an otyugh!" shouted Jozan. "These," he said, pointing to the tendrils, "are just part of the monster!" He shook his head to clear the putrid smell of garbage and feces that permeated the air. "We have to cut Qorrg free!" he shouted.
The monster tightened its tentacles around Qorrg and caused the orc's gray skin to take on a paler cast, like the color of white marble.
Jozan stood with mouth agape as he stared at the monster's toothy jaws. He swung his mace at the vinelike appendage, but was so distracted by the size of the beast's mouth that he might as well have been dancing as fighting. Indeed, he danced nimbly out of the way of a swiping tentacle.
The cleric was relieved to see Alhandra's blade slash into the stalk once again. She leaped back and nearly retched from the horrid stench. He held his own breath and smashed his mace repeatedly against the otyugh's limb. Still he heard the monster's teeth scrape noisily down Alhandra's armor.
Both Jozan and Alhandra fought with desperate speed. They were certain Qorrg was dying, and that added fury to their blows. Jozan smashed a protruding eyestalk at the same time that the creature's tentacle raked across his face and ripped a bloody gash.
Through the blood running into his eyes, Jozan saw Alhandra launch a flurry of blows. She sliced off the remaining eyestalk, slashed a bloody V across the horrid lips, and plunged the tip of her sword through the roof of the obscene mouth when it opened wide to suck in air. At last the malodorous body collapsed, half inside and half outside its lair.
Jozan immediately knelt to tend Qorrg's wounds and encouraged Alhandra to follow suit by laying on her hands. With bandages and prayers, the orc was brought back to a semblance of health. Only then did the three venture over the top of the hill to rejoin their comrades in arms.
As they crested the hill, they saw Krusk running toward Yddith with the wounded slave woman in his arms. Bounding after the barbarian, excited by the abundance of freshly spilled blood, was a shadow mastiff. Alhandra drew her longbow from off her back. She preferred fighting with the sword, but neither Krusk nor Yddith could wait for her to get that close.
With the arrow already nocked, Alhandra heard Jozan's voice and felt a scintillating wave of well-being wash over her. She smiled, knowing that Jozan had blessed her, and she sent the arrow winging toward the mastiff. The tip buried itself in the creature's haunch as the evil beast snapped at Krusk's calf. The delay gave Krusk time to place the wounded slave in Yddith's hands before turning himself to face the mastiff.
Alhandra let fly with another arrow and watched it narrowly miss the beast. But she had a third arrow on its way by the time Krusk drew blood with his axe. The mastiff howled as Krusk pulled back his axe, matted with blood and fur. Just as Alhandra's arrow wedged itself in the hound's ribs, it pounced on Krusk and knocked the barbarian down.
As the shadow mastiff tore into Krusk with fang and claw, Alhandra didn't hesitate. She dropped the bow and sprinted toward the monster. Krusk tried to throw the creature off, but it bit onto his arm and held on tenaciously. With a single, powerful slash, Alhandra sliced the beast in half with her sword. Its body turned to shadows and shimmered into non-existence as it returned to its home in Baator.
"Well, well," observed Jozan as he walked up to the paladin and returned her bow. The cleric looked at the ground where the shadow mastiff had fallen and continued his thought. "We've already bearded the lion. We might as well visit his den."
"Are you sure that isn't his den of iniquity?" asked Alhandra with a lightness in her voice that she hadn't felt since they left Pergue.
20
Calmet's sing-song chant echoed as he spread mud along the back wall of the tunnel and felt his fingers penetrate the rock as easily as if he were a potter working clay on his wheel. Calmet performed this ritual twice per day for the last few days and still they had not managed to open up the chamber that held the sacred shrine. Time was running out. The mineral walls gave way to mud and Calmet watched in rapt appreciation as he pushed his way through the stone. He savored the way his fingers felt as the power coursed through them and allowed him to shape the rock.
Then, something felt different. His fingers were no longer massaging the rock and shaping a passage. They had reached through the stone and touched nothing but air.
The cleric plunged forward. He chanted at a feverish pace. His hands moved as rapidly as possible and soon shaped a human-sized doorway. Calmet tried to motion to the guards that he had broken through into the sacred chamber, but he didn't dare speak lest he unwittingly break the spell. The guards were too stupid to realize what he was indicating, or too unobservant to notice that he had broken through. Calmet continued to widen the passageway as he wondered what they would find on the other side of the tunnel. Eventually, he felt the cavern walls harden and noted that the mineral appearance had returned. He briefly admired the size of the entry he had sculpted, then turned to face the idiotic guards who ignored his gestures and his progress.
"Get the archprelate immediately," ordered the cleric. "He'll want to know. We've found the chamber. We've reached Scaun!"
The guard left immediately, loping up the passage in such a way that Calmet knew he would slow to a walk as soon as he turned a corner and was out of Calmet's sight. The orcs were incredibly frustrating. Calmet and Laud had worked for almost two years to reach this point. Only a few days before it looked as if they might not reach the chamber before the solstice. It had taken brilliant inspiration on his part to pull victory out of the jaws of defeat, and Calmet couldn't wait to share the triumph with his friends and colleagues.
Today is the solstice, he thought, and there is plenty of time to repair and prepare the sanctuary before sunset brings Gruumsh's avatar to life.
Of course, there was only one thing wrong with Calmet's desire to share the moment, to savor the triumph. There was really no one to share it with. Certainly, he could share the moment with Laud, but the archprelate was his superior. He expected success. Laud went through pupils like Balor went through slaves to satisfy his appetite for fresh blood. He might praise Calmet, but the apostate cleric's achievement was really nothing more than Laud expected. That was the problem with the worship of Gruumsh. The one-eyed god taught only the imperative of power, the superiority of strength. Friendship was weakness. Weakness was to be purged.
Calmet had really never thought about it before, but at times he felt cheated. He had been so focused on gaining power and reaching this goal that he left behind the camaraderie of the order. He sacrificed human relationships, friendship, and love on the altar of power as surely as his eye had been sacrificed to Gruumsh. It almost gave credence to that Peloran passage…
"How did it go?" Calmet asked himself. "I think it was something like:
"Though I ascend the highest hill, my failure to touch those in the valley can leave me as a wisp of wind or fleeting breath.