Pool of Radiance_ Ruins of Myth Drannor - Carrie Bebris [34]
“Are you quite finished?” Corran asked.
Oh, how she wished she could see the paladin’s face-so she could smack off the smug expression she knew it bore.
Emmeric, still in the lead, rounded a bend and quickly retreated, nearly bumping into Kestrel. “The entrance to the House of Gems is right around this corner,” he said. “The cultists have posted guards, though.”
“How many?” came Corran’s disembodied voice.
“A cult sorcerer and maybe a half-dozen orogs.”
Kestrel sucked in her breath. She’d rather face twice as many orogs than the cult sorcerer. Just the thought of that clawed hand-let alone the spells it could hurl-made her cringe.
“We can handle them,” Corran declared. “We should focus most of our effort on the mage-he’s the most unpredictable, and if the orogs are mercenaries they might flee once their employer is defeated. Durwyn, you and Emmeric fend off the orogs. Ghleanna, Jarial, and I-and Kestrel, if she cares to participate-will concentrate on the cult sorcerer.”
Kestrel was sorely tempted to respond to Corran’s barb by “declining to participate,” but she let it pass for now. Later, when she had leisure for retaliation, she’d put the condescending paladin in his place.
Everyone readied weapons and spells. As one, they charged around the corner.
The cult sorcerer and his minions paused in momentary shock but soon recovered themselves. “Who are you?” the cultist demanded. “Depart from the House of Gems!”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” Ghleanna said as she released a spell. Three bursts of magical energy raced toward the evil wizard, all striking him in the chest. Before the injured spellcaster could utter more than a foul expletive, Jarial sent one of his magical acid-tipped arrows singing through the air. The missile struck its target squarely between the eyes.
“By the hand of Tyr!” Corran’s voice rang out in warning. The paladin materialized as his sword impaled the mage. The cultist sunk to the floor, staring sightlessly through his red leather hood.
Kestrel, unused daggers still in hand, looked at the dead sorcerer in amazement. “Damn, that was fast.”
The orogs, who hadn’t even had time to close in, froze at a command from their leader. “Hey, you gubuk,” he said to Emmeric and Durwyn.
“Gubuk?” Durwyn repeated.
“You soft-skin people. I parley with you. Stand. Stand and talk!”
The fighters turned for guidance to Corran, who nodded. “All right. Let us speak.”
The two sides lowered their weapons and approached each other warily. “Orogs swore to protect ugly mage,” the orog leader said. “If ugly mage dead, orog honor say, nothing to protect. No need to kill you gubuks. We go now. No hard feelings.”
Kestrel had to smile at the creatures’ simple logic. And pragmatic loyalties.
“A few questions first,” Corran said. “What can you tell us about your employers?” Kestrel almost wished he hadn’t asked-the rank smell of the orog leader’s matted, hairy hide made her queasy. Or was that his breath?
The orog shrugged and tossed his head. His stringy, greasy hair didn’t move. “Ugly mages full of lies. Make deal with orogs. Orogs walk dungeons, yes, find magic items. Mages promise lots of gold. But ugly mages no pay.” He blew air through his snout. The noise seemed meant to signal disgust. “Today ugly mages say get small gubuk, put in box, they give big treasure. We take gubuk, put in box. Ugly mages not pay.”
Ghleanna frowned. “Who was he-the small gubuk?”
“Garbage man. Lives in wagon-”
“Nottle.” Kestrel groaned, shaking her head. Stupid scamp. Hadn’t they warned him?
“Nottle, yes. That what ugly mages call gubuk. Oho, garbage man not like box! He talk and talk.”
“Where is this box?” Corran asked.
“In old dwarf treasure room,” the orog said. “Down in dungeon. Way, way down.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“You have got to be kidding!