A commotion on the level above drew Buncan’s attention. “We’re discovered. We’ve got to finish here and get out.” Working alongside Neena, he concentrated on smashing the last of the intact gear. With Cilm’s help they were able to upend the largest of the worktables. What remained of the delicate equipment it held went crashing to the floor. Still not satisfied, he took his sword to the fragments while Squill continued to duel with the jabbering box.
“Rebooting required, rebooting required!” As it hobbled toward the stairway from which it had made its ignominious entrance, Squill leaped on its back in an effort to restrain it. Like that of some squat, squarish turtle, its internal mass was sufficient to haul him upward.
“Gimme a ‘and ‘ere, mates!” he bawled as he clung to the slick metal surface. “ Tis tryin’ to get away!”
“Hold it, Squill!” Searching through the rubble, Buncan found an intact bottle three-quarters full of some pale yellow liquid. Racing up the stairs, he joined Squill in forcibly tilting the box onto its back. Rubbery feet kicked at the air, seeking purchase.
“Unauthorized entry, unauthorized entry!”
While the otter did his best to hold the box steady, Buncan poured the bottle’s contents into the largest and loudest of the three mouths. When it was empty he stepped back. A moment later Squill let go.
The box staggered up another two stairs, then stopped and began trembling violently. A distinct gargling noise came from all three slots. This was followed by mechanical retching noises and the regurgitation of several small bits of plastic. One mouth gasped feebly.
“Blind, I’m blind! Where’s the See-prompt? I can’t find the See-prompt. Maledictions on you all! Abort, reentry, fail. Abort, reentry . . . fail . . .”
With a final shudder it seemed to settle down on its tiny feet. Then it rolled over and bounced back down the stairs, to lie silent and unmoving at their base. Descending to stand alongside, a wary Squill nudged it with a foot, glanced over at Buncan. Both human and otter were breathing hard.
“I think it’s dead, mate.”
Buncan nodded, turned to look upward. The commotion he’d detected was growing louder. “Someone’s coming. Mowara?”
The galah flew toward the ceiling, called anxiously down to them. “They come! The Dark Ones come! Beware and be ready!”
A hand touched Buncan’s arm and he forced himself not to pull away from its tormented owner. “Remember promise,” Cilm said softly.
“I’m not killing anyone. Not yet.” Sheathing his sword.
he brought the duar around in front of him. “Squill, Neena!” The three of them put their heads together and in low tones began to rehearse possible defenses, while Mowara squawked and circled overhead. Left to himself, Cilm ripped and tore at the innards of the unmoving box until they lay strewn all over the floor.
“Who dares!” came a bellow of outrage from above.
“They have destroyed the oracle!” Judging from his tone, the second speaker was more frightened than angry.
Hooded figures were gathering on the level above the pit. Buncan was gratified to see that they carried not cryptic sorceral implements but ordinary weapons: swords and knives.
“Get ready,” he murmured to his companions. They formed a tight little knot off by themselves.
“Kill them, kill mem!” Beginning softly with one of the figures, the chant grew quickly in strength and volume.
The tallest of the hooded ones stepped to the edge of the stairs and shoved back his cowl. Eyes burning, ears twitching, Droww glowered ferociously down at them.
“You will be most agonizingly dismembered, and then I will have the pleasure of transmuting your genes!” His glare was pitiless. The threat had little effect on Buncan, since except for the part about dismembering he didn’t have the vaguest idea what the wizard was talking about.
“By the power of the All-Splicing Mage, by the haploid dissolution. By the fecundity of my kind and the fevered twists of their DNA, I call upon the Great Master of Selective Breeding to make an example most hideous of these blasphemers!” Raising his hands toward the ceiling, he began a new chant that was quickly picked up by his followers.
A dark glowing mass formed at the base of the stairs. Low, reverberant grunts and growls began to issue from within.
“Steady,” Buncan urged his companions, his fingers taut on the strings of the duar.
Something was moving within the bloodred cloud. As it began to dissipate, a hulking shape half as big as Snaugenhutt emerged. Sloping, hunched shoulders were clad in a studded leather vest. Its short, fluffy tail had been transformed into a nest of spikes, as had the crest that ran down its back. Both ears were ragged and torn, and long fangs hung from the upper lip. One hand dragged an immense wooden mallet along the floor.
“Carrot!” it rumbled.
“No, no!” Above, Droww was forced to interrupt his chant and point at Buncan and the otters. “Rend, tear, immobilize!”
The massive figure blinked uncertainly. “Carrot?”
“Carrot later!” a dyspeptic Droww bellowed. “Rend first!”
Heavy-lidded eyes focused on the unmoving trio. Lofting the mallet in both hands, the mutated hare lurched forward and swung.
Buncan began to play even as he leaped to his right, the otters scattering in the other direction. The head of the mallet dimpled the floor where they’d been standing.
“Hey, gruesome, over ‘ere!” From beneath a still-intact table Squill made a face at the apparition, which brought the mallet around and down with a prodigious grunt, reducing the wooden platform to splinters. Squill had long since scrambled to safety.Droww wrung his hands helplessly. “No, no! Be carefitll”
This request evidently involving elements of subtlety far too fine for the ungainly executioner to comprehend, it paused to blink dumbly up at its master. “Rend careful?”
The delay allowed Buncan and his friends time to regroup. Despite being winded, the otters harmonized splendidly and without hesitation.
“This no place to Ignore a dare
Callin’ up this thing’s ‘ardly fair
But that’s all right, ‘cause we got rap to spare
If you won’t fight straight, we won’t fight square
Beware
Up there
Better have a care
Better watch your hare
‘Cause our fresh hip-hop’s
Gonna fix your lop _
An’ your magic ensnare.”
Silvery fog enveloped the mallet-wielding monster. Halting in midswing, it let out a mammoth sneeze (evidently the enchanted mist was ticklish) and, despite the by now somewhat desperate chanting of the Dark Ones, began to shrink. Fangs diminished, feet contracted, head and body dwindled. Only the ears remained resolutely unchanged.
The brute continued to reduce until there stood in its place a diminutive rabbit no larger than Mowara, with ungainly ears that went all over the place. A representative of the lop clan, Buncan thought with a smile as he relaxed his fingers, to end all lops.
Despite the transformation, it still made an effort to comply with its original directive. “Rend!” it declaimed in a high, squeaky voice as it brought its equally shrunken mallet down on Squill’s foot.
The otter let out a yelp and danced clear. “You bloody little . . . I’ll tie you up in your own ears an’ use you for a bleedin’ yo-yo!”
“Enough!” The raging Droww flung his arms wide. The other Dark Ones drew away from him.
“ ‘Ear that?” Neena prompted him. Straining, Buncan could make out the sounds of fighting somewhere outside the chamber. He smiled. With the Dark Ones diverted, it sounded like Wurragarr and his people had managed to breach the gate. If they were inside the wall, it was only a matter of time.
“It’s over!” he shouted up at the aggrieved hare. “You’re finished, Droww. Even as we stand here, our friends are busy cleansing this monastery.”