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come any closer," the explorer warned.
One set of eyes narrowed. "There's no need for that sort of rough stuff. We
was only looking for a way out of this trench." This voice was deeper than the
other, with a mournful tone that made Artus think of the huge cloister bells
in the House of Oghma.
Two dark figures detached themselves from the shadows and came warily forward.
At first Artus took them for pygmy bears, for they walked on all fours, had
stout bodies and coarse fur. As the two creatures moved fully into the
torchlight, though, he saw that they were something else entirely. Short legs
supported their chubby bodies, which were half as long as Artus was tall.
Their heads seemed to grow right from their shoulders, with rounded ears, flat
noses, and bristling whiskers.
The larger of the pair was dark brown, with sad eyes. "I 'ate being stared
at," he grumbled. "Better if 'e tried to club me than stare at me."
"Now, now, Lugg," the smaller, gray-furred creature chided happily. He held up
a thickly clawed front paw. "The gentleman has obviously never seen a wombat
before." He turned vacant blue eyes to Artus, who could only stare at the duo,
dumbfounded. "See," he continued. "Completely awed by our unheralded
entrance."
Artus shook his head, certain the lumps he'd gotten from the goblins and the
blow from Kaverin's fist had rattled his brains somehow. First Pontifax's
ghost, now talking wombats. He closed his eyes. That had dispelled the phantom
Pontifax quickly enough.
"That won't 'elp a bit," Lugg noted flatly.
The creature was right. When Artus opened his eyes, both wombats still stood
at the edge of the junkpile, staring up at him. "You're not Grumog, are you?"
he asked.
"Sorry," the gray wombat replied. "Don't know the chap. I'm Byrt, and this is
Lugg. Who "
A bellowing roar echoed up from the lone tunnel sloping out of the pit. It
rattled the loose stones in the walls and sent a shower of dirt cascading from
the roof. Artus took a quick survey of his surroundings. Mist swirled all
around, but he could easily see that the walls of the circular prison were too
steep to climb, even if he did want to face Kaverin and his goblin allies
again.
"Wait a minute," Artus said. "How did you two get in here?"
Lugg shook his head. "We pushed through that 'ole over there. I don't think
you'd fit in it, if that's what you're thinking."
Artus cursed. After snatching up the quiver of arrows, he began to turn over
the pile of bones, tattered clothes, old cookware, and broken pottery in
search of his dagger and any other weapons he could find.
Byrt quickly joined in the hunt, digging into the possessions of those
sacrificed to the goblins' god. "By the way," the gray wombat asked, "for
what, may I ask, are we searching?"
Artus spared him a withering look. "Go away," he said simply.
"Good idea, that," Lugg murmured and trundled off toward the hole in the wall.
"Just a moment," Byrt said. "If that was Grumog bellowing a moment ago, he
sounded quite large and
quite mean rather like Nora, my kid sister. And if Grumog is indeed anything
like her, this fellow may need our help."
Lugg's response to that was a derisive snort. Nevertheless, he turned back
around and sat down.
Artus found his dagger inside a cracked goblin skull and his journal resting
in a rib cage. Grateful to have them again, he slipped the blade into his boot
and the book into his pocket. Whatever Grumog was, it was thorough in
stripping the flesh from its victims. In fact, it had tried to eat most of the
bones and rubbish, too.
There was little in the pile that wasn't scored with teeth marks.
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"If it's weapons you seek, here's a spear, in relatively good condition," Byrt
called. He bit down on the pole, dragged it to Artus, and spat it out. "Only
one previous owner a headhunter who used it to do in little
old ladies on their way to the market. Yours for a song."
Again Grumog's roar rang through the cavern, this time underscored by a
rousing cheer from the goblins above. "Ah. That's just the song I had in
mind," Byrt chirped and hurried off in search of more weaponry.
"That's a bunch of them Batiri up there, ain't it?" Lugg asked mournfully.
"Brrr. Those rotten twisters are a lot of "
"Look, Lugg," Byrt interrupted. "Why don't you go on up ahead and delay Grumog
a bit. You know, use what little grace you still possess to keep him occupied.
Dazzle him with fancy footwork and the like."
"What for?" Lugg shouted.
"I just came up with a plan," Byrt said proudly. "You slow Grumog up, and I'll
widen the hole enough for our friend here, Master " He paused meaningfully.
"Artus Cimber," the explorer said, not looking up from ransacking the refuse
pile. He had uncovered another goblin spear, a bent and rusted sword, and a
small shield made of palm fronds. "Thanks anyway, but I can take care of
myself."
"Yeah, maybe 'e don't need protecting," the brown wombat said truculently.
"Besides, why me?"
Byrt flashed him a fatuous grin. "Because you would be a mouthful and a half
to a starving monster. I
would merely be a mouthful. Being a ravenous beast, which would you choose?"
"I'd choose not to go," Lugg grumbled.
Byrt didn't wait for a more serious answer before he set about widening the
hole. He tore into the loose rock with his claws, scattering dirt and rubble
in a wide arc behind him. Artus wasn't certain, but he thought he heard the
wombat whistling a tuneless song as he worked.
At the point where the tunnel opened into the pit, Lugg took up his post as
unwilling sentinel and would-be decoy. "I can't see a thing out there," he
said.
Just then, the mist grew thicker and a spade-shaped head poked into the cave
above Lugg. It was fully equal in size to the wombat, with bulbous eyes and a
huge, gaping maw. Teeth like garden spades jutted up around its scaly lips.
Mist poured from two sets of gills that flapped along the thing's snaking
neck, obscuring the long, serpentine body coiling slowly out of the tunnel.
Lugg yelped and dashed away from the creature. Whether the wombat intended to
draw Grumog's attention or not, he did so quite successfully. It slid into the
pit in pursuit of the chubby snack, mist hissing from its gills, its thousand
small legs pulsing along the walls and floor. As much as Artus could see in
the growing murk, Grumog resembled a cross between a reptile and a centipede,
with a thin body tapering away to a double-barbed tail.
"Byrt!" the brown wombat shouted. " 'Urry up!"
Grumog arched its back and opened its mouth. Four long tentacles shot forward,
groping for Lugg. The wombat scrambled behind a rock, only to have it snatched
away an instant later by the tentacles. The gray-green limbs stuffed the stone
blindly into Grumog's mouth, then retracted as the creature chewed up the
unappetizing morsel. It quickly spit out the remains of the large stone a few
fist-sized rocks and a shower of gravel.
When Grumog opened its mouth to roar again, Artus threw one of the two spears
he'd found. The iron-tipped shaft sank deep into the creature's side, and its
roar of hunger became a yowl of pain. The victory was short-lived, though.
When Grumog couldn't reach the offending spear with its short legs, it used
its tentacled tongue to pull the barb from its side. Casually it tossed the
weapon away.
Artus glanced over his shoulder. "Lugg's right, Byrt. Hurry!"
"Almost there," came a muffled reply.
Grumog started forward again, this time right at Artus. To slow the beast,
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