Escape from Undermountain - Mark Anthony [26]
"We've got to cut her free!" Beckla cried.
Artek reached for the saber at his hip. In horror, he froze. It was too late.
Slick tendrils snaked out of the wall and plunged into the woman's body. They pulsed like veins, pumping her full of dark fluids. She screamed, convulsing violently. All at once she fell still. As Artek and Beckla watched in revulsion, her body began to change. Her skin dissolved, revealing glistening muscles and organs beneath. As if of their own volition, her body parts began to undulate, rearranging themselves into hideous and alien new shapes. The woman twitched and shuddered. She was still alive, but she was transforming into something else.
"There's nothing we can do," Artek gasped, feeling sick. He grabbed Beckla's arm. "We have to go!"
The wizard nodded jerkily and stumbled after him. They careened down the tunnel, passing more prisoners embedded in the moist, fleshy walls. All were in the process of being transformed; all were beyond hope.
The tunnel opened into another chamber, one with pink walls and a ribbed ceiling. Thick green liquid bubbled in a pool in the center of the room. A caustic stench hung in the air, burning their eyes and noses. The jewel in Artek's hand flared brilliantly.
"He's got to be here!" he gasped, gagging on the stinging air. He spun around, searching the slime-covered walls.
"There!" Beckla choked, pointing.
They rushed to the far side of the chamber. A body was embedded in the wall, struggling beneath a taut, fibrous sheath. Artek peered through the covering, dreading what he would see. He glimpsed a young man with a pale face, golden hair, and terrified blue eyes. It was the lost lord-Corin Silvertor.
"I think he's all right," Artek uttered in relief. "It looks like the transformation hasn't begun."
"Then we've got to get him out," Beckla replied urgently. "And fast!"
Artek drew his saber and slashed at the glistening sheath. It was tougher than he would have guessed. He pushed harder, until at last the tip of the blade penetrated the membrane. Clear yellow fluid oozed out. Clenching his jaw to keep from gagging, Artek slid the saber down, cutting open a large slit, and more ichor spilled out.
"Give me a hand!" he cried.
Together, he and the wizard reached into the slit, grabbing hold of Silvertor. They strained backward. At first there was resistance, but then, with a sucking sound, the young man slid through the opening in a gush of thick fluid. At the same moment, livid tendrils sprang out of the wall, searching blindly for living flesh into which they could pump their vile secretions. Clutching the lord, Artek and Beckla fell to the floor, hastily rolling out of reach of the waving tentacles.
Breathing hard, they climbed to their feet, pulling Silvertor up with them. The young man wobbled precariously, then managed to stand with their assistance. Foul-smelling ichor dripped from his once-fine clothes of blue velvet and ruffled white silk. With trembling hands, he wiped the slime from his face. Even as Artek's swarthy looks denoted his orcish blood, so too the young man's fine, elegant features indicated his noble heritage.
Lord Corin Silvertor smiled weakly as he gazed at Artek and Beckla. "I must say, your timing is impeccable," he said in a haggard but cultured voice. "I know not who you may be, but I must thank you for rescuing me. I am forever in your debt. Know that I and my family will lavish great rewards upon you for this deed. Anything you wish of me, you have only to ask it."
"Anything?" Artek growled.
"Anything!" Corin agreed enthusiastically.
"Then shut up," Artek snapped. "We're not out of here yet."