Voyage of the Mourning Dawn (Heirs of Ash) by Rich Wulf

Author:Rich Wulf [Wulf, Rich]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786964949
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2013-06-04T00:00:00+00:00

“Well, look at that,” Tristam said, shoulders slumping as he read the sign.

Seren smiled, but her smile faded as she studied the surrounding buildings. They were uniformly dark and rundown, like the rest of the village. There was no way of telling who might be within, or if Arthen’s home was already being watched from one of them. In a place like Black Pit, it was almost impossible to find anything conspicuously suspicious, since everything was already rather shady and threatening.

Then Seren saw the small figure crouching on the rooftop next to Arthen’s office. She darted forward, seizing Tristam by the sleeve and pulling him back into the alley. Wordlessly, she pointed up.

“Let’s sneak around behind that building to the right,” Tristam said. “We should be able to get up on that roof behind him without him noticing.”

“We probably don’t need to,” Seren said. “Whoever that is, they aren’t going anywhere unless Arthen does. What if they cry out and Arthen hears?”

“He isn’t going to hear anything with the racket out tonight,” Tristam answered.

Seren couldn’t really argue the point, though the mysterious noise emanating from the Pit made her less eager to stumble through dark alleys. Omax led the way around to the back of the building adjacent to Arthen’s. The alley was littered with refuse and heaped with the black filth that fell from the sky. Seren searched the wall for a way up, but saw nothing beyond a few rough handholds in the stone wall. She prepared to climb, but was surprised to find her feet rooted firmly to the ground.

“What are we standing in?” she asked, twisting to look at the ground beneath her.

The shrieking that resounded from the pit erupted much closer. The pile of garbage that littered the alley exploded into movement. A grotesque amorphous shape surged toward them, a greasy pile of gray flesh studded with bloodshot eyes and clicking, fanged mouths. The sound that came from within it drilled into Seren’s head, shaking her bones and robbing her of the will to act. She felt the ground suck at her feet. What once was sturdy earth now sucked at her calves. Tristam reached for his wand with a numb, shaking hand. The creature vomited a ball of black spit in the artificer’s eyes and he fell back, screaming and clawing at his face.

The thing knocked Tristam down with a fleshy limb and rolled over his helpless form, extending more twisted hideous arms toward Seren. Then Omax was there, charging into the creature headfirst. He hit the thing squarely with a meaty slap and it began to extend fleshy, biting tentacles around the warforged’s body. With a heavy grunt and a heave, Omax grasped the beast with both arms and lifted it from the ground, pulling it off Tristam’s body. He hurled it to the opposite side of the alley. It struck the wall with the sound of cracking stone and oozed downward, leaving a trail of red ichor in its wake. Omax wrapped one arm around Seren’s waist and pulled her free of the quagmire.

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