Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [74]
A rank pollution spread through the water, offending the senses of the mighty creature, child of the earthmother. The leviathan had killed many times, but never had it sought out its victims with such determination. The leviathan emerged from the strait and broached, rolling its serpentine form among the great swells of the sheltered sea. Gray skies glowered overhead, and many thin patches of mist and rain spread across the horizon.
The leviathan turned slightly, as it sensed its prey somewhere to the left. Soon, many long, narrow shapes came into view, scuttling across the surface of the sea like tiny waterbugs. The pollution of the water became so strong that the mighty creature choked on its own bile. Its rage grew unstoppable.
The leviathan opened its great jaws just before its head broke the surface. Spray erupted as the powerful tail drove the creature from the water. Higher and higher the leviathan rose. At the same time, those awesome jaws clamped together. The leviathan tasted wood and blood in its mouth. Splintered bits of the narrow shape fell to either side, but the great bulk of it remained within that terrible maw. The creature crashed back to the surface, and then dove deep, carrying the shapeless mass of wood and men to a permanent grave. Finally it opened its mouth, letting the wreckage float free.
Turning toward the surface, it again began to rise. There still remained a great deal of killing to do.
X
FLIGHT
THE MONSTERS SPREAD into a thin line, advancing to do battle. They held an assortment of deadly weapons – swords, clubs studded with vicious spikes, long battle-axes. Their most effective weapon was their sheer size, and the inexorability of their march toward Tristan and his companions.
The fire roared higher behind them, belching smoke from the double doors.
“Any ideas?” the prince asked, half-heartedly.
“Not me,” replied Daryth, looking grimly at the monsters.
This last group of Firbolgs had obviously been posted to watch the stronghold exit. They did not seem to be as stupid or undisciplined as the others. A great bull of a Firbolg, with a high, bulging forehead and a horrible red sear down his cheek, commanded them, and led their charge.
Keren launched an arrow from his mighty bow. The missile tore into the thigh of one of the Firbolgs, dropping the creature in its tracks. The bard’s second shot thudded solidly into the Firbolg leader’s shoulder, but the creature ignored the wound. Pawldo also fired, but his arrows seemed to be little more than pinpricks to the hulking attackers.
Robyn was standing beside the proud unicorn, oddly calm. Tristan saw Finellen fingering her dagger and starting to slip forward. Yet their chances of winning the fight appeared slim, until, suddenly, something glimmered in the field before them.
“What’s happening?” Before he could think of an answer to Robyn’s question, Tristan realized that many of the Firbolgs had stopped advancing. Some fell thrashing to the ground, while others swung their weapons viciously against something unseen in the air.
The scar-faced Firbolg leader turned and bellowed orders at his minions. Then he, too, seemed to lose his mind, striking at nothing, and grunting in fear. For a brief second, the prince’s mind reeled with confusion. Then he understood what was happening.
“Come on!” he cried, leaping forward toward the half dozen or so Firbolgs who had not been affected by the strange madness. Tristan knew that he and his companions had been given a fantastic opportunity, but they needed to capitalize upon it quickly.
The white unicorn thundered past him, its ivory horn zeroing in on the chest of a Firbolg. Finellen, uttering a bloodthirsty yell, sprinted along at his side. Her eyes, he noticed, glowed with a savage joy.
Twin streaks flashed over his head, and he knew that the two archers had gone to work. Keren seemed to have recovered his aim, for his bolt lodged deep in the throat of one of the Firbolgs, striking it, gasping