Part 19, Appendix C
"MONCH!!" Se'Te'Kaa gathered his legs beneath him and leaped, driving his shoulder into the soldier's back and knocking them both to the side. The wormling that had emerged just where Monch had been standing and could have easily taken his feet off if not for the rogue's quick reflexes. The two of them struggled in the snow for a minute, finding balance as they came to their feet. The wormling had been pulled away by one of the other soldiers, where it was already coming to a swift end.
"Thank you," Monch said, somewhat ashamed of his own carelessness.
"If I did not act, it would be likely that you would be dead now, Muurkha. As much as I might relish the thought, I promised Tchi-ja that I would try to prevent your death if possible," the Stygian replied.
"You're not fooling me. It's almost the end of the story and you just want another part in it. Can't say that I blame you, there's enough spotlight here for everyone," Monch said with a smile. Se'Te'Kaa stared sharply at Monch before replying.
"It is clear that your head is damaged, even if we cannot see it."
"Very likely true," Monch replied. The two split up as another set of worms erupted from the snow. With the last set not fully vanquished, the Scion of Acheron set about directing his Seekers.
"Tenochta! Mixy! Datolite! Take those wormspawn down - NOW!" His voice seemed to focus their ire, and he watched them work with deadly efficiency to cut, hack and mutilate the remaining worms before they could be overrun by yet another wave. Faces were grim, but optimistic and Monch could feel a swell of pride and victory sweep through the raiders, even though their primary objective was still up and biting.
Moments like these, Monch knew, could be more deadly than others.
"Let's take the fight to the mama worm!" Melkel shouted as he put a flaming arrow to his bow and drew back to loose at Yakhmar herself.
Someone cheered in response, but the rest of the group recoiled as the shaft leapt from the bow and sailed across the open space towards the iceworm.
Monch gave a warning cry and raised his sword, but it was too late. As soon as Yakhmar felt the blistering sting of flame against her ice-hardened skin, she began to shriek and wail. The cavern itself trembled, sending a shower of ice raining down from overhead. It was a sound that no helmet or fingers-in-ears could block. It was a sound of pain that overwhelmed sense and reason and drove each member of the Corps to the outer edge of their endurance.
When Yakhmar was done, everything on two legs was stunned, shaking and disoriented from the harrowing lament of the ancient iceworm. As more worms sprang up from the snowy ground, those assembled made vague motions to act and react, but in the aftermath of the wormcry, their muscles could not be made to work and their brains were fuzzy and unfocused.
Monch watched with detached horror as Tarcon was driven to the ground by the barbed tongue of the great worm as she sought to drag him into her gullet. Nearby, the wormlings were mimicking the actions of their parental guardian, knocking over the larger half of the raid force and gnawing with their much smaller mouths at booted feet and gloved hands.
The Lion of Ahriman felt a eddy of dark despair starting to swirl around him, threatening to obliterate the effort that had carried them all this far. All the preparations they had made to get to this point: Would that collapse here and now? Monch's heart sank as he began to think that all was utterly lost.
(To be continued)