Realms of Valor - James Lowder [97]
As Artus's fingers closed around the blue stone, something burst up from the dirt next to the dead horse. The boy caught a glimpse of it-shaggy hair and beard, all wild and unkempt and matted with soil. That mop seemed to be the entirety of its head and upper body, until it flexed its stubby arms and slashed the air with long black talons. The creature plunged back into the ground then, just as another surfaced momentarily on the other side of the horse. Together the two creatures circled the unfortunate mount, a track of disturbed earth forming around the corpse. Before Artus could cry out his amazement, a hole swallowed up the entire warhorse. “Run!” he heard his father shout, but the words seemed to come from very far away. Brightly the gem in Artus's hand flared to life. The force wall flowing from it pushed his fingers apart, as it always did, and spread out to encircle both the boy and Prince Azoun. Artus felt the globe sink as the earth gave way, opening a wide maw for him. He looked with staring eyes at the still form of Azoun, past him to the translucent blue floor of the sphere. At any moment, the dirt beneath it would fall away and they would be swallowed up, just like the dead destrier. Then the rumbling beneath Artus stopped. All was silent for an instant as the globe settled in the shallow sinkhole. Nearby, where the horse had been taken, clots of dirt shot from the burrow. They rained down on the road in a soft patter. On the other side of the road, the Shadowhawk crouched near the hedgerow, neither fleeing nor lifting a hand to help his son. Like Artus, he seemed frozen by fear. “Whatever you do, boy,” came a strained, quiet voice, “don't let go olthat gem.” Artus nearly did just that at the unexpected words from the prince, but Azoun reached out and gently steadied the boy's trembling hand. “W-What are they?” Artus stammered. Reaching up to gingerly prod the bloody wound on his forehead, Prince Azoun said, “Zhentarim assassins. Magically altered dwarves, I think. Voracious little beasts called groundlings. How-Ooch.” He pulled his fingers away from the gash. “How long can you keep that force shield up? I think it's blocking the groundlings' tracking sense.” “It stays up by itself, but only as long as we're in danger and the gem's touching my skin. I mean, I can't control it other than that.” “One of the groundlings must be right below us,” the prince observed. “Close, too, if it's triggering the shield.” He reached for his sword, but found his belt empty. “Where's my blade?” The boy gestured to the weapon, which lay in the road, well out of reach. Then he flinched, as if he were expecting a blow for his mistake. “It's all right,” Azoun said kindly. “Just give me your dagger.” The prince took the small, rather dull knife and rolled onto his knees. The movement caused the thing in the ground beneath the force globe to stir, and the sinkhole grew deeper as the groundling blindly expanded its burrow. The sphere of magical energy sank into the earth, far enough that Artus could barely spy his
father as he huddled near the hedgerow. The boy soon regretted even that limited vista. From the wide burrow that had swallowed the prince's horse, a coarse laughter began to echo. The hacking was soon accompanied by the sickening crack of still-warm bones breaking. Limb by limb, rib by rib, the destrier's remains flew out of the burrow. The gory missiles landed in the grass, bounced off the force shield, even buffeted the Shadowhawk.