Finally the whole of the monster could be observed as it stepped right into the plaza. Jaymes saw that it was balanced upon twin, whirling cyclones-black tornadoes of swirling, tumultuous air. The sight was terrifying and violent as its mere presence stirred up geysers of wind, spattered dust and rock across the ground, and rattled the heavy boards of the barricade. By all the gods-how was it even possible to stop something like that?
The lord marshal raised his sword and stared along the blade, seeking to make contact with the creature’s hellish eyes. When he did meet them, he staggered backward from the physical impact of the elemental’s raw emotion. Jaymes’s knees buckled and he went down, bracing himself with one hand on the breastwork, veering dizzily.
But he did not lower his eyes. He forced himself to stare into that monstrous visage, holding his sword aimed straight at the creature’s eyes, allowing the magic of the ancient artifact to find and grab the creature.
The elemental king’s gaze seemed like liquid fire being poured directly into Jaymes’s skull.
Fury.
He had never imagined such rage, such a thirst for destruction, vengeance, retribution. The violence of the elemental king’s emotions made him sick to his stomach, but still he would not look away. Jaws clenched, he stared, unaware that his own fingers were curling into fists. Staggering, he pushed himself up to a standing position, still leaning against the barricade, his knees bending as if in preparation for a charge.
Hate.
The elemental directed its anger to the very sky, and the sun that burned so loftily above. It hated the whole city of humankind, the thousands of souls that flickered and survived here, living and dying quickly in a way that this monster could never understand. The elemental king despised all living creatures, and it craved to end life. Deeper, Jaymes probed that hateful consciousness, seeking to penetrate its monstrous core.
Wrath.
Anger was fundamental to this seething creature. The elemental hated not just the humans, but it hated its own army. In particular, Jaymes perceived an image of the half-giant, Ankhar the Truth. There flashed another image of a man in a gray cloak-the Thorn Knight-and the withered, hideous visage of the hobgoblin shaman. Those were the beings, the marshal understood, for which the monster reserved its worst malice.
Fury… Hatred… Wrath.
All these emotions were focused, most forcefully, against those three beings, its own allies.
Why did the creature attack Solanthus, then? The answer seemed obvious: because it could not strike at the ones it hated the most. Jaymes perceived this basic truth amidst the elemental’s many churning emotions. The monster was restrained from attacking its most hated foes, so it inflicted utter annihilation on anyone within reach.
Moptop Bristlebrow poked around another corner and looked to the right then the left. The shadows of these dingy confines were broken here and there by a few shafts of sunlight. He stood ankle deep in water, not even noticing yet another of the many stagnant puddles that littered the city sewer system of Solanthus.
Which was, beyond any doubt, the most fabulous city sewer system the kender had ever seen. A beam of sunlight, grid-patterned because of the iron grate over the manhole above, offered him a chance to consult his map. Moptop made a scratch mark with his charcoal pencil then started along the left-hand tunnel, the passage that, he guessed, led either due west, or on some angling vector toward the north and east.
Altogether these tunnels formed a truly intricate maze, which he was having a splendid time exploring. He had been down here all morning, traipsing around, exploring, adding crucial details and highlights to his maps. And there was still a lot more to see.
This was even better than poking through the ducal palace, which had occupied most of the previous night. He had almost been thwarted in that endeavor, since he had quickly discovered someone had accidentally locked the door to his guest bedroom so he couldn’t get out. Strangely, though he could hear servants walking past, and though he had pounded and yelled for quite a while, no one had noticed the commotion and come to unlock the door. Fortunately, a drainpipe extended near his fourth-floor window, and it had been a simple matter to scamper up to the roof and climb down one of the chimneys.
Of course, the ducal palace was a fascinating place in its own right. He had enjoyed making the rounds during the night, investigating several bedrooms. There were lots of guards patrolling the halls, and though Moptop had frequently been tempted to introduce himself to one or two of them, they always looked so serious that he guessed they were very busy with guard stuff. So he had simply melted into the shadows and let them pass.
He had even found a secret passage! When he went over to Jaymes’s room to see how the lord marshal was sleeping, he had been surprised to find him missing. Then he had discovered a panel of the room’s wall that slid silently out of the way, and when Moptop had been poking around that particular passage Jaymes himself had emerged from another secret door, this one connecting to the room of the duchess. Here, too, Moptop had been tempted to say “hi,” but the lord marshal had looked so preoccupied that the kender had allowed him to walk right past without announcing his presence.
But after six or eight hours, Moptop had seen just about as much of the palace as he wanted to. In the cellar he discovered a drain, which someone had gone to the trouble of securing with a grate, which was practically tailor-made for a kender’s egress. He had slipped through then slid down a bumpy chute of slick, mossy stones-a fun ride, that! — soon finding himself in this far vaster network of places to explore.
He was just starting to skip westward-or north by eastward-when something shook the floor under his feet. Debris fell from the top of the sewer tunnel, bits of gravel and dust spattering onto the kender’s topknot. He saw concentric ripples in the puddles that had, up until now, been lying there perfectly still. A moment later he felt the shake again… then again, at a regular tempo. It reminded him of being in a house where somebody large and heavy was walking around on the roof or in a room right over his head.
“That’s what it is; somebody’s walking around up there!” he remarked, certain of his explanation.
Then his eyes widened: it had to be somebody very huge. After all, there were people and even horses tromping all over in this city, and he hadn’t heard so much as a single little whisper from any of them. This was someone thumping the ground hard with each step.
Moptop looked up and down the tunnel. There was still so much to see down here-miles and miles of sewer remained unmapped, at least as far as he knew-but curiosity about what was going on up above got the best of him. He hurried back to where the beam of sunlight arrowed through the sewer grate and scrambled up the rusty metal ladder on the side of the pipe. At the top he was able to poke his head between the bars, though they were too close together for him to slip out.
And-drat his luck! — the giant walker had just gone past! He saw a glimpse of a rocky shoulder and great, dark head looming high above the ground, but they vanished behind a pile of stone rubble almost immediately. Well, it sure was huge! Huger than anything he had ever seen, and he almost wept in despair at the thought that he missed his chance to get a really good look at the elemental king monster.
Fortunately, Moptop’s climb to the grate was not entirely wasted; he was thrilled to notice heavy hobnailed boots approaching at a clomp. Lots of boots! Ogres! A whole army of them! At least, that’s what it seemed like as they came marching along, tromping right past where he hid down in the grate. The kender was almost ready to wave a cheerful greeting but, as he lifted his hand, his foot slipped off the slick metal ladder’s rung and he dropped a foot, out of sight from above. By the time he climbed back up, they were marching past, and he thought it best not to disturb them.
Next he saw a pair of boots that were even bigger than ogre boots. Beside them strode a set of legs as skinny as toothpicks, with oversized feet wrapped in old leather sandals. Moptop lifted himself up, and realized that he was looking at the half-giant, Ankhar the Truth, himself! He was accompanied by an old hobgoblin wench, a gray-robed warrior, and a couple of swaggering Dark Knights that looked like bodyguards.
“Where is the king?” Ankhar demanded. “Don’t let him get too far!” He sounded kind of upset, even worried, to the kender.
“If you listen, you will hear. He is crushing the humans in the plaza. But he has not moved into the city yet,” came the reply from the man who wore the long, gray cape. “We still drive him before us!”
“Then I must find a place to see-a place where I can watch this city die,” crowed the half-giant.
Suddenly the sewer wasn’t so interesting anymore. The kender looked around, recalling another grate a little ways back that might be big enough to let him get out.
It seemed like maybe he better go and find the lord marshal.
“Move up-charge there, forward, and to the left!” Ankhar was advancing at a run, chasing the ogres that had
