The monster crested the rim of the pit and then rose above it. It had used the slimy refuse of the midden to increase its size and its stench was overpowering. But more hideous were the thousand singing mouths, some pitched gratingly high, others grindingly low, some smaller than a babe’s, a few the size of a dragon’s maw, all lined with gleaming, sharp fangs. In the center of the mass facing them, clustered around the immobile form of Alias, a set of mismatched eyes scanned the soldiers.
“Fire!” the captain shouted, flinging his own lantern at the beast. The glass shattered and the burning oil spread out over the rotting decay. It smoldered briefly, but the waste that made up the creature’s body was too wet to ignite. Crossbow bolts disappeared into the garbage, but did not seem to cause much damage, except for puncturing an eye. Three more eyes opened around the injured eye, staring cross-eyed at the thick, green ichor oozing from it, then turned their attention to the fighters.
The mound of rot and refuse towered over its attackers. Wet tendrils, as thick as broomsticks, dripping with mire, lashed out from the body and struck three of the soldiers, including the captain. They were all dragged screaming into a different large, open maw, feet first. The Abomination bit each man in half before swallowing.
Dragonbait clutched at Akabar’s robes, pulling him toward the city wall. Akabar tore loose from the lizard and planted his feet firm. “Look,” he said, unable to tear his gaze from the horror that was Moander, “I’m sorry about what I said before. You were only doing what you thought best. Now you have to go get Ruskettle. Go get help—Elminster or Dimswart. The Harpers—anyone you can find. This is more than we can handle. I have to stay and try to free Alias.”
Dragonbait shook his head.
“It’s no use arguing. I’m not leaving. There’s no sense in both of us risking our lives. Someone has to warn the world.” Akabar did not bother to consider that Dragonbait had no voice to raise such an alarm. He shoved the lizard toward the city wall and moved toward the battle, circling to keep in sight the “face” of Moander that held Alias.
Dragonbait loped from the pit. He stopped a short distance away and turned to watch the battle.
The Abomination of Moander, singing its name, tore through the ruins, overrunning the camp of the Red Plumes. Akabar screwed his eyes shut and muttered, fast and furious, the opening lines of the spell.
When he opened them, the beast had turned back toward the pit to clean up the stray humans it had left behind. It was almost on top of him, its fanged mouths smiling and the eyes that clustered about Alias all fixed on his body. Akabar aimed his spell square on those eyes.
A pool of light blossomed across the god’s “face.” The eyes turned a blind, milky white or shut tightly to shield themselves from the brightness cast over them. Akabar grabbed a tendril and hauled himself up the hulking body.
When he reached Alias’s side, he drew his dagger. He began hacking furiously at the roots which bound her to the monster. The blinding light would not last long, and he did not stand a chance once an eye spotted him.
There was movement along the garbage hulk. Akabar looked down to discover the source of the disturbance. Dragonbait was using the jagged teeth of his sword to saw through the thicker tentacles entrapping Alias.
Annoyed but not surprised, Akabar shouted, “You should have followed my orders.” Dragonbait finally got one of Alias’s legs free and moved up to work on the restraints about her arm, but he suspected he was fighting a losing battle. Tendrils were regrowing already, and Akabar had to slash them back, keeping him from making any progress toward liberating the swordswoman.
An eye opened near Akabar’s hand. He stabbed it and it shut up, tearing yellow ichor. Below him, a large branch, as thick as a boa constrictor, reached for Dragonbait. Shouting a warning, the mage launched himself over Alias’s body and kicked the lizard to the ground. The tendril caught the mage’s wrist and snaked up his arm. At its tip was a venomous-looking flower shaped like a great, yellow hand that groped blindly toward the mage’s head.
Dragonbait watched in shocked horror. Akabar shouted, “Run, damn you, run!” before the foul blossom curled over his face. Akabar was dragged into the heart of the pulsing mass. Tendrils grew over Alias’s body.
Dragonbait fled toward the city wall. The heaving monstrosity shambled after him, swords and half-eaten bodies stuck out at all angles from the boundaries of its oozing flesh. There was no sign of the mage. The light Akabar had cast was fading, and only the hot blue glow from the warrior woman’s buried arm revealed her position.
Diving through a hole in the city wall, the lizard curled himself into a tight ball and rolled down the slope of the mound with reckless speed. A shower of brownish vines and tendrils shot out after him but fell short of their mark. Shouts came from the far side of the wall—more mercenaries alerted to the Abomination’s presence. The whine of missiles, ordinary and magical, reached Dragonbait’s ears.
The lizard stood up and dashed down the mound. At the bottom, he turned to check on the monster. The city wall, already weakened from years of abuse, began to give under the pressure of the god’s bulk. Part of its body oozed over the wall, crushing beneath what it could not push aside.
Dragonbait turned again and ran toward their camp, chased by the shrieks of the soldiers dying in the city. He did not weep for Akabar; all his tears had been spent on Alias, and he had no time to make more.
Olive Ruskettle turned in her sleep and moaned softly. A shadow passed through her usual dreams of wealth and fame and food and wine. Phalse’s face appeared briefly, his head split by that unhalfling-like grin, followed by a recurring nightmare—her abduction by Mist. Panicked horses neighed over the rushing sound of the dragon’s wings. The dream was so real that Olive’s sleeping form curled into a tight ball and pulled the covers over her head.
Then something poked at her, a swift, sharp shove. Alias, Olive guessed, demanding that I take my turn at watch.
“Go ‘way,” Olive grumbled, clutching the covers more tightly about her. “It’s the lizard’s turn. Let me have five more minutes. Tops.”
“Five more minutes,” an agreeable voice rumbled. “Then I will fry you where you sleep.”
Olive’s eyes shot open. Very slowly, she turned over to find herself looking square in the steaming face of the not-so-honorable Mistinarperadnacles.
“Boogers,” the halfling whispered. She scanned the campsite for the others.
There was no sign of them. They were gone—all three of them. Dead already? Olive puzzled. Without a fight?
The tethers of the horses had been pulled up, but the twisted, half-eaten form of the purebred chestnut, Lady Killer, lay not far away.
The dragon followed her gaze. “Yes,” Mist purred, “I had a wee bit to nosh before waking you. I get so crabby trying to talk to people on an empty stomach. The temptation to eat them wears on my nerves, you see.” Steam poured from the creature’s nostrils, engulfing the halfling.
Olive coughed back a breath of the noxious vapor.
“Now,” the she-dragon demanded, “where is the lawyer?”
“Lawyer?” Olive squeaked, trying to gain her mental footing. How could the others leave me like this, unguarded, in so much danger? Of all the inconsiderate behavior!
“The woman who knows the old ways,” said the dragon. “The warrior. I understand she travels with a pet mage and a lizard-creature.”
Olive’s heart leaped. They were still alive! Somewhere. They can rescue me! Aloud she said, “Gee, they were here a little while ago. Maybe they—” Her hand fell on Akabar’s parchment map. Squinting in the moonlight, she could just make out writing on the back, but not what it said. Cautiously, explaining her every move to Mist in detail to avoid any sudden incinerations, the halfling drew out and lit a candle from her pack. She read the message to herself.