CHAPTER 14
Waukeen, Vambran pleaded, dazed by the enormity of the creature slithering toward him. What in the bloody Nine Hells is that thing? Shaking off the paralyzing fear that gripped him, the lieutenant went into action, scrambling upward, away from the ranging, reaching tentacles.
The sudden motion only seemed to spur on the monstrosity. Vambran scuttled to the very top of the chamber, thankful that his arcane ability still functioned. Once there, he turned to see if he was out of the thing's reach. To his dismay, the mercenary officer saw that the body of the worm reached halfway across the floor, its head near the altar, and it still hadn't completely cleared the hole from which it had emerged. The tentacles wriggled and quested for him, elongating to span the distance.
'Son of a whore!' Vambran swore, trying to figure a way to escape. He got an idea and pulled forth his holy coin. Uttering a familiar prayer, he conjured a swarming field of coins and sent it flying toward the behemoth below him.
The buzzing swarm of coins did not distract the giant worm as Vambran had hoped. He began to mentally command the glowing, ghostly weapons to attack the creature, and he was relieved to discover their effect on the worm. The coins did nothing against the worm's tough outer skin, but whenever they hit a tentacle, it spasmed and writhed, trying to get away from the source of the pain.
Changing tactics, the worm reared back, withdrawing its tentacles. Vambran got the uneasy feeling that the creature was on the verge of spitting something, and he feared whatever it disgorged could easily reach him. Sure enough, the worm's head darted up toward him and a great gout of liquid burst forth from its mouth, right at Vambran.
The lieutenant had no chance to duck or dodge, so he did the only thing he could-he let go.
He dropped fast, plummeting past the spot targeted by the gout of liquid, which Vambran realized at that moment was the source of the beast's foul odor. The spray of fluid spattered over the stone walls where Vambran had been. The rock surfaces sizzled and popped.
Acid, Vambran concluded. And powerful.
The mercenary's plan was to drop far enough to escape immediate threat and use his magic to slow himself to a stop farther down, but the worm had other ideas. As Vambran slid past, the worm's head darted in his direction, snaking out a tentacle. With deftness that surprised the man, the first tentacle grabbed him around the waist and slowed his descent.
The second one encircled his neck, choking him.
The lieutenant, his air cut off, began flailing. The life was being squeezed from his body. Spots darted in his vision. In his desperate efforts to free himself, Vambran dropped the enchanted sword he had subdued. He heard the blade slide away.
Fool, he cursed himself. Now you'll die with no weapon. A fine soldier you are.
As Vambran struggled to remove the ever-tightening tentacle from his neck, his sight grew dim. He tried to command the swarm of coins to attack the tentacle that ensnared him, but his concentration had been broken while leaping clear of the acid and the coins had dissipated. With his body gripped in the tentacles, he had no way to mouth the words to summon another spell.
The tentacle began pulling him toward the worm's maw. He punched it with his fists, but that resulted in two more tentacles wrapping around his wrists. Vambran's flailing grew panicked. He knew he was going to die there, at the bottom of the ocean, hidden away from all the world. It was a lonely thought.
By the gods, Vambran thought, I'm sorry, Em. She'll never know, he realized. He wanted desperately to answer her, to let her know he loved her, but no words could come. It made him furious.
There was movement. He saw a flash of blade, slashing near his head.
The tentacle that held his neck jerked once, then loosened. Vambran yanked at it, working his fingers beneath it, making room for air. He managed to suck in half a lungful. The blade swung into view again, cutting and slashing at the tentacle again. It loosened a bit more.
Vambran could breathe. He tried to talk, to answer his sister, but he only managed to cough and splutter. Beside him, the blade worked, moving furiously, cutting and slashing over and over at the tentacle that held his neck. The thick, rubbery appendage withdrew.
'Em!' Vambran cried out. 'I'm here! Can't talk!' He wasn't sure if the message got through.
The magical blade was still at work, hacking and sawing at the next tentacle. But the worm had pulled Vambran close to its mouth, close enough that the scent of its acid breath stung his eyes, made him choke on the fumes. And his arms were still trapped.
'Vambran!'
The shout from Arbeenok came from the side, near the door where the lieutenant had first entered the great round chamber. He managed to steal a quick glance in that direction. 'Do something!' he shouted back. 'Hurry!'
He could see that the elves were having a difficult time maneuvering into the chamber. They did not have the benefit of his magic. Just hurry, he thought.
The worm's head erupted in a column of flame. Vambran was so close to it that he swore he was being scorched. He turned his face away from the heat.
The worm thrashed madly, jerking Vambran about for a moment, and then suddenly the soldier was free.
And falling again.
He reached out and grabbed at a column on the way down, managed to snare it with his magically enhanced grip. He hung there, breathing hard, as the worm whipped about, crashing into the floor of the building and making the whole chamber shake and groan. Several large chunks of stone fell from above as part of the wall collapsed.
Vambran scrambled to pull himself up onto the top surface of the column, still trying to suck in a full lungful of air. A large block went tumbling past him, slamming into the next column and obliterating it.
Time to get out, the lieutenant decided. He lamented the further destruction of the ancient ruins. He looked to the stone altar, wondering if he still had a chance to open it. I have to try, he decided.
His spider climbing magic was still active, so he scrambled toward the dais as quickly as he could. In the meantime, the worm had recovered from its frantic writhing and was approaching the newcomers. It reared its head back in a familiar way.
'It spits acid!' Vambran shouted, motioning. 'Get back!'
Serille nodded and shouted a curt order, and the sea elves tried to retreat back through the doorway.
Not all of them were fast enough.
Vambran turned away as their screams rose in pitch and went silent. He focused his full attention on the box. Make their lives count, he told himself. Get this accursed scepter! He still could see no way to open the box. But Serille said the elves believed the ruler of Naarkolyth had sealed the scepter inside! How?
The lieutenant slapped his forehead, feeling the fool. He focused his arcane energy on the stone, conjuring the magic of opening. There was a heavy click and the top of the box fell away, tumbling to crash into the debris below. Vambran peered over the edge of the huge stone container and looked inside.
A box, crafted of wood and perhaps very fine once, rested canted against one corner. It had broken open and the lid was twisted, one hinge snapped. A cudgel lay there, nestled in a form-fitting depression in the lining of the box. It was made of living things, grapevines and leaves and feathers all wrapped together. The head of the artifact held one of the largest emeralds Vambran had ever seen.
He reached inside, afraid to touch it, terrified it wasn't real, wasn't the right piece of history, would crumble if he disturbed it. He laid a single finger on it, felt its smooth hardness.
The worm loomed into view, its body blotting out all other light in the chamber. Its tentacles darted toward Vambran. The lieutenant grabbed the scepter and lunged away just as the enchanted blade shot past him, slicing into the flesh of the nearest probing appendage. He did not waste time looking back. He clambered across the stone
