TAURON and began to drag it under.
Stel stood frozen, disbelief registered in every bone
of his body. He dropped the dagger, much to the captive’s
relief, and clawed at the tiny skull pendant. As he pulled it
free, it CRUMBLED.
The TAURON was beginning to break up, as the
tentacles threatened to crunch it. Captain Kruug and
several minotaurs rushed forward, attacking the creature
with heavy axes. The rotting skin of the behemoth gave
way. It took the minotaurs only a few blows to sever the
one tentacle and only a couple more to cut a second in
two.
Unfortunately, as Kruug and his men finished the
second, a dozen more ensnared their ship.
“All hands to battle!” roared the captain. Minotaurs
all over the TAURON abandoned their stations and joined
the fight against the beast.
Another wave washed over the front of the ship. Van-
dor’s left arm was nearly torn from its socket and
something like an army of blades tore at his flesh. He was
being flayed. In desperation, he lifted one foot and kicked.
His boot struck something solid. He kicked again.
The blades pulled free of his flesh. Only when the
first shock subsided did he realize that the sivak draconian
– the cursed shapechanger – was no longer holding him.
He looked around but saw no sign of the foul reptile. The
draconian had been washed overboard. At least he had
succeeded in avenging himself on the creature that had
killed his friend and captured him.
A brief satisfaction was all he was allowed. Then, it
was a matter of struggling for his own life. Another wave
washed over the ship. The other draconian released
Vandor and fled, slipping and sliding, for the TAURON’S
interior, choosing self-survival over the orders of the
cleric.
Stel had moved to one side and was holding onto the
rail, eyes wild. He was shouting something at the
leviathan but his words were having no effect. Desperate,
the gaunt priest whirled on the silent figures of the
merchant’s ancestors and made a sign.
The undead shuffled forward, forming a half-circle
around the cleric.
Struggling to maintain his own hold on the rail,
Vandor Grizt sought some sort of escape. To stay aboard
the ship was folly in his opinion, but the Blood Sea
offered the only other option.
“Shinare,” he whispered, “is there ANYTHING I can
offer you?”
Kruug, axe covered in a brown, thick muck, was trying
to get his crew’s attention.
“Prepare to abandon ship!” Kruug glanced around and
spotted Vandor. Grimacing, the minotaur called, “I’ll not
leave even you to this, manling! Get over to the – ”
A tentacle struck the captain. Kruug flew over the
other side of the ship and, as Vandor watched helplessly,
the beastman dropped into the water and vanished
beneath.
The TAURON began to shudder and crack.
THIS IS THE END FOR ALL OF US! Vandor thought.
His undead ancestors had formed a tighter ring around
the cleric. No longer were they the blindly obedient slaves
that Stel had summoned. They had the prefect pinned
against the rail and were closing the circle around him.
CHEMOSH WILL UNDERSTAND. . . Stel had said
that over and over. Chemosh – Lord of the Undead – had
not been as understanding as his servant imagined.
One of the wraiths, the skeleton in armor, reached out
and tore the mask from the cleric’s face. The skeletal hand
closed over Stel’s throat. Stel screamed horribly. The other
undead closed around him.
A gigantic wave swamped the TAURON.
Vandor Grizt lost his hold, falling overboard. The sea
took him. He could no longer see the TAURON and for all
he knew it had been pulled under after the last wave.
Water was all there was in the world. It surrounded him; it
filled him.
Then he saw a woman, a beautiful but fiery creature of
the depths. She was reaching for him, but something … no
SOMEONE – another woman . . . was pulling him away
from her.
Vandor Grizt smiled vaguely at the first woman,
regretting that their liaison was not possible.
Then, he was no more.
*****
Vandor Grizt discovered he did not like the taste of