The Ring of Winter - James Lowder [60]
Fortunately for Artus, the spear presented Grumog a momentary dilemma. It was simply too wide to fit in its mouth. The creature tried once, twice, then a third time to pull the shaft in, but the wood held. This was enough of a delay for Artus to right himself and make a sizeable gouge in the ensnaring tentacle. Shrieking, Grumog released him.
The explorer landed atop Lugg, knocking the wombat hard enough to make him lose his grip. Good thing, too, for at that moment Grumog snapped the spear and swallowed it whole. The creature's tentacled tongue shot back into its mouth.
"Quickly, children," Byrt called. "The animal pens are closed for the evening. Toddle to the exit. No stragglers, please, and no feeding the unpleasant local gods."
Lugg spit out a chunk of tentacle and ran. Artus was about to follow on the wombat's furiously kicking heels when he saw his journal had been jarred from his pocket by the fall. He thought to reach back for the book, but a horrifying noise stopped him.
Grumog roared and lunged at Artus, mouth open wide. The explorer managed to dodge the clumsy attack, but the creature did succeed in tearing up a large section of the pit's floor. Grumog chewed up the earthen victim. Sadly, it found no bones to crush, no flesh to rend. It did, however, get a surprise.
Along with the rocks and dirt, Grumog had gobbled up Artus's journal.
When the beast bit down upon the wyvern-hide binding, its spadelike teeth shredded the tough covering-and thus broke the enchantment placed upon the book long ago by the Red Wizards of Thay. Thousands of pages spewed out of the journal when the binding snapped. Grumog tried to push them out of its mouth, but there were simply too many of them. The lizard-thing gagged. Twitching and gasping for breath, it fell over and kicked its feet futilely. Then the god of the Batiri died.
Artus walked silently to the creature's bead. Its mouth had been forced so wide by the paper that the lower jaw hung at an impossible angle, broken. A few pages floated free of Grumog's mouth and drifted to the ground. Artus picked up one of these. The top read; The tale of Elminster at the magefair, as told to me by the Sage of Shadowdale himself. Most of the text had been sheared off by one of Grumog's teeth.
He crumpled the page and let it fall.
The journal had contained his whole life, everything he'd done as an adventurer and all that he'd learned from the sages and heroes of Faerun. Even when it had been stolen aboard the Narwhal, Artus knew somehow he would get it back. Now it was gone for good, irrevocably destroyed.
"That was quite a trick," Byrt said, nosing one of the pieces of parchment. "It goes to show the power of a good book."
The larger wombat trundled to his fellow's side. "Leave 'im alone," Lugg growled. "Can't you see 'e ain't thrilled about this?"
Artus absently gathered up his unstrung bow, a few stray pieces of discarded clothing, his quiver of arrows, and the now-smoldering torch. Without a word, he headed off down the tunnel, backtracking Grumog's trail. The wombats fell in behind him, keeping a respectable distance.
"I think he can help us," Byrt whispered.
Lugg shook his head mournfully. "I don't think anyone's likely to 'elp us."
Grinning so broadly all his wide teeth showed, Byrt replied, "Give him a chance, old sport. I think our Master Cimber is a good fellow, if a bit at sea right now." He looked up at the man shuffling down the tunnel, shoulders slumped, head bowed. "Anyway, I think he could use our help, poor chap." He picked up the pace, trying to catch up to the explorer.
"I wonder what 'orrible thing 'e did to deserve that," Lugg mumbled, then hurried after the others.
* * * * *
Kaverin Ebonhand leaned back in his chair and placed the back of one hand to his forehead. The black stone remained cool, even in the most unfriendly of climes. Currently, it was doing a fine job of soothing