Lady of Poison_ The Priests - Bruce R. Cordell [45]
The ranger struggled in the monster's grip, but the hold was unwavering. The giant raised the ranger to eye level and spoke in Common for the benefit of its victim and anyone else who happened to hear, "I got a few rips in my armor that your skin can patch, except for your left arm. I'll bite it off now; saves time later."
For Marrec, time slowed. It seemed that the illumination in the courtyard dimmed but for a fey light that picked out his mentor and the giant ogre. The creature laughingly manipulated Thanial in its grip, trying to get the man's arm to stick out as he might pose a doll.
"No!" screamed Marrec.
Pain lanced his eyes, as if ice picks had thrust out from each orb. He locked eyes on the beast and willed it to stop, and it did.
A grayness overtook it, and its terrible skin armor became a gray tide rising on its fleshy beach. Its chest, head, legs, and arms became as stone.
Something was wrong. The tide of mineral gray did not stop with the monster but extended to the victim caught in the giant's cruel grapple. He'd caught Thanial in his stony gaze.
The entire edifice of stone, man and monster, swayed. The creature had transitioned from flesh to mineral while in mid-step. Down it came, tons of weight slamming down upon the courtyard cobbles. The crash of the shattering, pulverized stone caught the attention of every creature, both attacker and defender, that was not already aware of the dramatic reversal of the ogre's fortune. A rain of pebbles pelted Marrec, followed by billowing dust. No piece remained whole. Only rubble remained.
He'd slain his mentor.
The ogres, leaderless and afraid, fled, giving Marrec a wide berth.
He'd slain the one person who trusted and understood him.
Shira the great wolf fixed him with an accusatory stare, then leaped away, howling in sorrow.
He'd proved Thanial wrong. His heritage was suspect, and his ability evil. With heavy footsteps, Marrec turned to face the forest. He knew not where he would go, what he would do, or to whom he would pledge himself, but one promise he made immediately and aloud.
"While breath remains to me, my heritage will never again reveal its devilish glare. By this vow, Thanial shall be remembered.''
Anammelech rubbed at one of his empty eye sockets, disgorging a gobbet of ooze. He'd thought he'd felt some sort of vermin wriggling around in there, but no, it was just an abnormally large accumulation of slime.
When the blackness birthed itself from the air, Anammelech stepped back, alarmed. The void had the shape of a halberd. The blightlord recognized it. It was Gloomgate. It was the signature weapon his brother-blightlord, Gameliel. It's presence could mean only one thing.
"Gloomgate?" inquired the blightlord. Upon being named, the weapon began to whisper urgent secrets.
Listening to Gloomgate's tale, Anammelech's suspicions were confirmed. The weapon's appearance indicated that Gameliel had fallen. Gloomgate was his. Anammelech permitted himself a malicious grin.
Who were these enemies of the Rotting Man Gloomgate whispered about so fiercely? A cleric-of Lurue? Anammelech raised an eyebrow. What a strange coincidence.
What's this? The 'Child of Light', too?
Yes. Gloomgate's silken, silent voice was insistent The Child of Light and the Keystone were both heading toward Yeshelmaar. It was a little too perfect. Fate was conspiring to hand Anammelech quick advancement in the Rotting Man's empire. Gameliel was dead, and his only other real rival, Damanda, was too close to the Talontyr's heels to effectively advance the Rotting Man's agenda. Damanda thought boot-licking would get her ahead, but if Anammelech delivered the Child of Light to the Talontyr, Damanda's favored position would be his. His sister blightlord, once out of the direct graces of the Rotting Man, would be subject to Anammelech's long-planned vengeance for past slights, but first things first.
Time to activate one of his most carefully nurtured assets in Yeshelmaar. If he planned