The Survivors (Tracy Hickman Presents the Anvil of Time) by Dan Willis

Author:Dan Willis [Willis, Dan]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786956470
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2010-01-12T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

Silent Death

Bradok hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He knew he had, though, because he was dreaming. He found himself walking through the deserted and silent streets of Ironroot. He tried to force himself to wake up, but the dream only worsened. Apart from the confusion of being in a place he knew no longer existed, he couldn’t seem to remember why he wanted to wake up. It nagged at him, like the pain of a molar that needed removing.

As he walked around the statue of Argus Gingerbeard, he realized that he had developed a limp. He didn’t remember hurting his leg and, in fact, his leg didn’t seem to be in any pain; it just didn’t work as it should. Figuring it might have fallen asleep, he tried shaking and rubbing it to no avail.

When he looked up from his exertions, he discovered the cooper, Silas, standing at the base of the statue, regarding him.

“Silas,” Bradok stammered.

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better,” Silas told him sadly. “You need to be strong. Others will need your strength.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Bradok said.

Silas shook his head. “You must do better than that,” he warned. “Trust yourself and have faith.”

The light overhead flared, and Bradok had to shield his eyes. When it subsided, Silas was gone. Only the last words of his message, “have faith, have faith …” seemed to echo on in the distance.

While he stood there pondering Silas’s appearance, a bloodcurdling scream erupted out of nowhere.

Bradok whirled, trying desperately to locate the source of the cry. The city seemed to bend and waver as if it were melting; then it dissolved around him. Have faith, faith, faith …

He woke up, lying on the sand where he’d fallen asleep. Sitting up, he became aware of a long pink ropelike appendage hanging down from the ceiling, slowly wrapping itself around his leg. With a cry of disgust, he jerked his sword free of its scabbard and sliced the thing in two. Milky white liquid spurted from the wound and spattered Bradok’s leg and chest. He tried to wipe it off, but it burned his hand. Cursing, he rubbed his hand in the sand to get the acidic goo off.

The pink tentacle withdrew back up to the ceiling but Bradok could see the strange orange fungi above were trailing long tentacles down among the sleeping dwarves. Already they had wrapped around some and were pulling them into the air, toward open maws. Bradok could see the orange fungi peeled back, like bananas, with tiny tentacles waving inside. They would bleed their victims dry once the pink tongues sucked them in. Bradok shouted a warning to the others, but he had his own troubles.

He tried to kick his leg, to dislodge the tentacle end that was still wrapped around his leg, but his leg spasmed. Where the tentacle touched him, it had secreted a clear substance that had soaked through his trouser leg, turning his leg numb. Using the tip of his sword, Bradok peeled the pink appendage away from his leg.

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