Song of the Saurials - Kate Novak [37]
Beneath Kyre's skin, which had burst open like the rind of an overripe melon, there were no sinews or muscles or bones; instead, her arm was packed with rotting, mold-encrusted tendrils. Akabar gagged on the stench of decay that rose from her wrist. Most of the tendrils had been smashed by the chordal horn, and Kyre's hand hung from the end of her wrist like a piece of dead meat.
The tendrils lying about Akabar's ankles whipped upward and lashed about Akabar's wrists, cutting off his circulation. Kyre yanked her uninjured right wrist out of the mage's grasp. Akabar tried to club Kyre with the chordal horn, but Kyre pulled the instrument out of his hand and threw it to the floor.
Akabar turned his attention to his last hope of escape-the blackness over the table, which was now coalescing into the shape of the being that had been trapped within the crystal. Akabar gasped. He'd been expecting Elminster to appear, but although the being standing on the table wore the robes of a spell-caster, it looked nothing like the sage. It was huge, with horns and green scales and claws and a tail.
Akabar suddenly made a wild guess. "You transformed Elminster into that beast!" he accused Kyre.
Kyre didn't answer the merchant-mage's charge. With her uninjured hand, she had already pulled an empty soul trap out from her pocket. She held it out in the beast's direction and triggered it by shouting, "Darkbringer!"
Akabar threw himself into Kyre, knocking them both to the floor. Kyre lost her grip on the walnut-shaped crystal, and the magical device rolled across the carpeting.
The beast pulled out a crystal cone from his sleeve and pointed it at the bard pinned beneath the merchant-mage.
A freezing blast of cold hit the tangled bodies on the floor, covering them with rime. Akabar's skin felt as if it were on fire, and his heart and lungs ached as though they'd been stabbed. Unable to cope with such terrible pain, he lapsed into unconsciousness.
The beast Grypht watched with satisfaction as Kyre's tendrils and the orchid in her hair withered from the frost that covered them. Kyre lay as still as Akabar, but Grypht was taking no chances. With his staff, he pried the merchant-mage off Kyre. Then he set the half-elven bard's body alight with bursts of magical flames shot from his fingertips.
As the corpse crackled and sizzled, a horrible stench filled the room. Grypht made a face, but decided the smell could be borne. He climbed down from the tabletop and bent over his rescuer. He realized with a start that he recognized Akabar. Like the thief Olive Ruskettle, this creature was a friend to Champion-or Dragonbait, as people called the paladin in this strange world.
Unfortunately the Turmishman didn't appear to have weathered the cold spell very well. He wasn't breathing. Grypht's people could breathe even when they fell into a torpid state, but the saurial had no idea what was normal for these chirping apes.
He sighed to himself. Killing Kyre had been far more important than worrying about who got in the way-even if that person had been responsible for freeing him and was a friend of Champion's. Champion, however, would probably not see it that way. The paladin is always so damned idealistic, Grypht thought.
Grypht pulled a small bottle out of the sleeve of his robe. There was a chance it would prove unsafe for the creature on the floor, but he had to risk it. He unstoppered the bottle and poured its contents between Akabar's lips.
Akabar coughed back some of the thick liquid, but he must have swallowed some, for a moment later, he breathed a shuddery breath, then another and another. He did not regain consciousness, but his complexion turned from gray to his normal brown, a change that seemed like a good sign to Grypht. The saurial turned his attention back to the remains of Moander's servant.
There was nothing left of Kyre but ashes. Grypht used his staff to stir through them and knock aside the unburnt items Kyre had carried and worn-a dagger, a sword, a belt, a scabbard,