The Living Dead (Dungeons & Dragons Novel)
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But can they conquer that evil before the tribes go to war?
cracking against the living wood. Zalyn helped him ease the burden onto the hard surface of the wide lookout spot. He rolled into a crouch and peered over the elven village of Silatham. The place was a wreck. At least, Devis assumed the inhabitants would think so. In truth, the place was so strange looking to the city-bred bard that he couldn’t have said for certain whether it was in ruins or in perfect condition. But he was willing to bet the elves didn’t normally burn house-sized fires in
have long to wait. Within half a minute, the ceiling of the tunnel emerged through the grasping flames. Within another half minute, the wind of their passage finally overcame the receding shock wave of the exploding blasting powder. They bounced along the tunnel. Mialee had no idea how far, measures of distance had never been her strong suit and their dizzying speed made the black rock lining the ancient lava fly by. She flicked the hardened metal chunks from Devis’s back with his ridiculous
his face. As luck would have it, an earthquake chose that exact moment to strike. Devis lost his balance and they fell to the floor of the cart in a tangle. Their massive vessel gave in to the demands of cruel gravity and tipped onto its side, spilling them all across a field of rusted, jagged metal. Devis cried out as he felt something pierce his side deeply. All around him, the ocean of rusted metal, corroded beyond belief, roiled like a stormy sea. Wincing, he pulled himself off the
kept his feet. Escape was a few feet away. “Put me down,” Mialee whispered. “I can walk, and you need your arms.” The elf woman slipped gingerly from his grasp and stood briefly on the shifting metal floor before slipping into the crevice. Devis heard her shout in alarm as her feet shot out from under her and she disappeared down the hole. Mialee’s voice shrank down into the tunnel and he could not hear her. As the cart groaned back onto its wheels with a clang, Devis dived into the crevice,
Nialma were huddled in the corner, crying in supernatural terror that had to be the effect of a fear spell. And Favrid … … was dead. At least, Mialee hoped he was, because if he lived, his suffering would have been unimaginable. The elf’s corpse hung motionless and limp in a pair of rusty, iron shackles embedded in the rough wall. He was covered with blood, cuts, gashes, and bruises. He had endured grievous torture. Where his gentle, laughing eyes had once twinkled with mischief, there were only