“Oh—yuch!” squeaked Angela. “That’s even worse than the ear!” Jenny didn’t say anything. She just looked purely nauseated.
So did the Ogre. Its eyes bulged. Then Gwendolyn released her scissor lock and hoisted herself higher onto the monster’s shoulders. An instant later, she plunged her cleaver hilt-deep into the Ogre’s left eye. Two seconds later, did the same for the right.
And that, as they say, was all she wrote. The Ogre swayed back and forth on its knees for maybe five seconds, and collapsed right on top of Greyboar. The strangler still had his hands locked in place. Gwendolyn and Jenny and Angela spilled off onto the floor of the grotto.
Hrundig took one last vicious hack at the monster’s heel tendon—what was left of it—and danced away. He looked as fresh as a daisy, despite the rigors of his swordplay. I would have been amazed, except I knew that Hrundig made a religion out of endurance training.
The Cat seemed more worn out, but not much. Just breathing heavily.
“I take it all back,” she said, her chest heaving a bit. “That stuff about silly exercises.”
Hrundig grinned. “Stamina, woman. I told you. It’s the soldier’s best friend.”
The Ogre’s body lurched and rolled over onto its back. Greyboar pried himself out from under and stumbled to his feet.
He was not in a good mood. His head swiveled, bringing the wizard under his hot gaze.
“Zulkeh!” he roared. “What was the big idea, stirring this thing up?”
His words triggered off my own temper. “Yeah! And where were you all this time, you—”
I choked off the words. The mage was ignoring us completely. He was hopping back and forth on one leg, with a huge tome clutched in his hands, reciting from it aloud.
“—and thus, by the power of the wine-dark sea, do I smite thee with my rosy finger!”
He pirouetted, lifted his right hand from the tome, and pointed his forefinger at the Ogre’s corpse. The finger, I noticed, was indeed rosy. A bolt of something like wine-colored lightning sprang from the fingertip and smote the dead monster in the chest.
“Yuch!” squealed Jenny and Angela. Pieces of Ogre were splattered all over the grotto.
“That’s great, Zulkeh,” growled Greyboar, wiping a fragment of grue from his face. “You just killed a dead Ogre.”
The wizard frowned, examining what was left of the monster. Shelyid took the tome from his hand and tucked it away in the sack.
“I tried to talk him out of it,” he said apologetically. “Sure and the rosy finger’s a doozy, but before you can use it you gotta wade through all that stuff about the wrath of what’s-his-name and all that squabbling over the girl and that silly business where everybody’s racing around in chariots getting in the way of the gods who are doing all the real stuff and—”
“Silence, dwarf!” barked Zulkeh.
“Silence yourself!” snapped Magrit. She waddled toward the wizard, shaking her plump fist. “You damn near got us all killed and then didn’t do a damn thing except—”
Zulkeh didn’t seem to be listening. The mage had his head cocked, as if he were listening for something.
“Silence!” he hissed. “There has been too much noise already!”
Magrit wasn’t about to let Zulkeh shut her up, of course, so she kept squawling her displeasure. But the wizard’s obvious disquiet transmitted itself to everyone else.
“Silence the creature, Greyboar!” hissed Zulkeh. His usual arrogance seemed entirely absent. He waved his hands frantically, urging silence upon everyone.
Greyboar grunted, and clapped a hand over Magrit’s mouth. The witch looked furious, but she seemed to settle down a bit.
Silence. The strangler removed his hand and frowned. “What’s the problem, prof? Why are you—”
“Silence!” hissed the wizard again. Zulkeh was almost dancing with agitation. “Silence!”
* * *
A sound was heard. A deep, faint sound. Like—rocks moving, maybe. Or crunching.
“As I feared!” cried the mage. “Come! We must be off—and quickly!”
Matching deed to words, Zulkeh strode across the grotto to the tunnel entrance opposite the one from which we had entered. Shelyid followed.
Another sound. Much louder. Definitely like rocks moving. Or crunching.