Prophet of Moonshae - Douglas Niles [74]
Now the companies gathered to the sound of the horn, and Brandon led them along the trail of the riders. The trail didn't skirt the high mountain. Instead, it veered back and forth up the long, gradual slope until it reached the crest. Following cautiously, Brandon deployed his men in a long line and moved carefully onto the wide, gently rounded summit.
Here they found the great barrow mound, with its long, dark entrance. Three horses were tethered outside, waiting patiently for the Ffolk who could only be within.
"We'll greet them when they emerge," Brandon decided, ordering his men to take cover out of the entrance's line of sight. He himself, together with Knaff, took a comfortable seat directly above the dark gap. Then, like the three horses of the Ffolk, he settled down to wait.
* * * * *
Gotha grew restless in his cavern, which no longer seemed so massive. He knew nothing of the sahuagin who had come ashore with their gifts, or of the fisherman Sigurd of Gnarhelm, who discovered the items and took them back to his people as proof of a raid that had never happened. Finally his immortal master spoke to him.
Go forth, wyrm, onto the shore of the island.
Gotha crept forth from the cave mouth, his ghastly form emerging segment by rotted segment into the cold, blustery air. His legs creaked as he moved down the steep hill toward the shore where he had ravaged the town. Dark clouds scudded across the sky, and rain fell in spatters, passing for a few minutes and then returning with sudden force. But what did Gotha have to fear from chill?
Then, near the ruined villages, the monstrous dracolich beheld movement-humanoid figures, moving away from the sea toward him! For an instant, the beast toyed with the means of destroying the arrogant trespassers, whom he assumed must be human. Should he burn them with a gout of flame? Or seize them in his great claws, feeling their bodies crushed beneath his might? Or even better, bitten in two by his rending jaws?
But then he blinked and squinted. Dimly he could see that these were not humans. Instead, they were covered all over with green scales, though a few of the creatures, smaller than the others, were yellow. Their faces gaped, the wide slashes of mouths cutting like great wounds across them, widespread enough to reveal rows of sharp teeth.
"Greetings, O most pestilent wyrm!" cried the first of these beasts, throwing himself facedown upon the rain-slicked rocks of the shore.
Gotha paused in surprise as the other strange creatures did the same. He saw still more of the humanoids emerging from the surf, gathering in a semicircle before the dracolich, bowing and scraping and offering gurgling cries of praise.
Red gills flexed at the necks of the things, but they breathed air as well as water, for they showed no inclination to immediately return to the sea. The scaly creatures waited expectantly, as if desiring some sort of command or instruction.
The dracolich saw that some of the beasts wore hard breastplates, apparently made from great turtle shells, or helms made from the carapace of the great sea snail. Many carried weapons-tridents tipped with long sharks' teeth, or swords and daggers of oiled steel that had somehow resisted corrosion in the undersea realms.
These are your warriors. Use them well, my slave.
Gotha started abruptly as the voice of Talos came into his mind. Several of the yellow fish-folk moved forward. He saw breastplates inscribed with coral mosaics depicting the triple lightning bolt symbol of the Destroyer. The dracolich guessed that these were the clerics of that vengeful god.
A sneer of wry amusement curled his rotting lips as the monster considered the irony: He himself, a slave to the Raging One, was given slaves of his own so that he could work his master's will. At the same time, the undead dragon sensed a great deal of use toward which he could