Realms of the Underdark - J. Robert King [18]
Twice more Zak listened to agonized screams and evil chanting as those who had dared to defy the Way of Lloth were punished for their crimes. Then the chamber fell silent. It was his turn now. He strained against his bonds, but the effort was futile. Tensing his body, he waited for the moment of his doom to come.
Before it could; a strange thing happened. A tiny form pulled itself up over the edge of the altar and walked in halting fashion across the stone slab. Zak stared, his fear replaced by puzzlement. What was this creature? It looked like a crude, clay figurine of an elf, no bigger than his hand. Only it was alive.
No, not alive, Zak realized then. Ensorcelled.
With jerky steps, the tiny clay golem approached Zak's right hand. It raised a stiff arm, and green firelight glinted off cold metal. A small knife had been fastened to the thing's hand. Zak's eyes widened as the golem slashed downward. The sharp knife struck the leather thong that bound his wrist, cutting it through save for a small thread of leather.
"We can rest when our work is finished, my sisters," spoke a voice out of the hazy air. "Come, let us see to the fate of our last offender."
With clumsy but surprising speed, the clay golem scuttled into Zak's pocket. Black-robed forms appeared out of the swirling smoke. Cruel smiles cut across dark drow faces. Emerald light pierced the gloom as a fire was lit just behind Zak's head. The flames roared, and something rose from them. Zak arched his head back and caught a glimpse of half-melted flesh and spongy tentacles. Unholy dread turned his guts to water. As one, the priestesses began their chant. A slimy tentacle brushed across his brow. Zak grimaced, feeling the first tug of pain deep inside his body. Now was his only chance.
In a single motion, he jerked his right hand upward, snapping the weakened leather, and snatched a ceremonial dagger from the belt of one of the priestesses. He made a slashing arc with the spider-shaped dagger, taking out the throats of two wide-eyed priestesses, and finished the action by slicing his remaining bonds. Even before the bodies had slumped to the floor, Zak leapt to his feet, standing atop the altar, brandishing the dagger before him.
He found himself facing the yochlol.
The nether being hovered in the magical flames of the brazier, mere inches from his face. It shrieked in fiendish outrage, reaching for him with glistening tentacles, ready to tear him limb from limb. Zak did not hesitate. He lashed out a boot and kicked the brazier, knocking it over. Sparks flew. The yochlol shrieked again, then disappeared in a puff of smoke, banished back to the Abyss as the magical fires that had summoned it were snuffed out.
Zak spun around. The remaining priestesses had recovered their wits. They lifted their daggers and whips, surrounding him. One raised her arms, speaking the words of a spell. Zak kicked out, crushing her jaw before she could finish uttering the enchantment. She fell to the floor, moaning. Another priestess raised a wooden rod that glowed with fell magic, ready to strike him down. Zak lashed out with the dagger, and the rod fell to the ground, still gripped by the priestess's severed hand. She clutched the bloody stump of her wrist and