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The yellow eyes rolled upward to stare at the top of Sanval's head, and Sanval could imagine the thing thinking, "Aaah, a beautifully burnished helmet, how delicious!" Oddly, in his imagination, the creature spoke in the exact fussy tones of a former tutor who used to warn him about the dangers of the Vast and the folly of leaving an ordered life lived under the silver tiles of his district.
He tried to think of a plan, because surely a noble of Procampur, even one who had not traveled nearly as much as he wished, should be able to outwit a bug-brained monster. While Sanval considered his options, the monster's ante
Sanval dashed past it to the opposite wall. The monster ignored him, arching its curved back and going at the rusting pieces on the floor. It bent its legs so that the joints stuck out, and hunched itself over the rusting metal and lowered its ugly little mouth. The scrunch scrunch of Sanval's elbow guard being devoured like a hard-crusted loaf was more than a
What he needed was a wooden pole, he thought, and sca
What if he ran into one of the magelord's firespells? Sanval glanced down at his scorched boot-his manservant would be in tears when he saw what had happened earlier. Sanval's gleaming boots were the envy of the camp, and his manservant Godolfin made a fair amount taking bribes for his polish recipe (of course, Sanval paid him even more to keep the true recipe off the feet of his rivals). So, rust or fire? Which would be worse? Both would be hard on the outfit that he had left.
"I was trained to meet worthy adversaries," he complained, "fighters with swords. Even a bugbear has a sword. Or at least a glaive." He glanced down at the front of his chest. "Just as well I gave Osteroric my breastplate. I suppose if you had it to rust off me, you'd keep right on chewing through my body."
The monster tilted its head and looked up at Sanval.
"Please forget that I suggested such a thing," he muttered. He looked again at the crystals studding the wall. Some were as big as a man's head. He reached up and grasped the one that protruded out the most. By swinging his entire weight off the crystal, he was able to force it out of the wall. He hefted it in one hand, then jumped back as an ante
"Very well, you disliked that but took no harm from it. Another approach is needed here," Sanval said. Was there a weapon he could put together from his gear that did not contain metal? He glanced at his arms, with metal shields still in place on one shoulder and elbow. His gauntlets featured metal cuffs and guards. His body armor lacked the breastplate, but there was still a fair collection of chain mail and smaller plates, with a few bits of banded armor protecting his thighs and knees. All good for nothing except a meal for the monster.
And last, there were his beautiful leather boots. He had never liked armored footwear, finding it impossibly clumsy; also when he had tried it, he had been rewarded with blisters. Now, as he considered ways to destroy the creature, he was doubly glad that he had chosen leather boots. Walking out of these ruins in his stockings would be less than dignified.
The monster shot out its ante
With the monster busy with its lunch, Sanval pulled off a shiny leather boot. He pried a couple of fist-sized crystals out of the wall, dropped them in, and grabbed another.
The beast made a disgusting gulping noise and swung toward him. Sanval unbuckled his other elbow guard and tossed it in a high arch. The creature raised its head to watch, tracking the guard's path until it clattered into the far corner. Slither, snap, into rust, crunch, crunch.
"No sense of a fair fight, and no table ma
By the time the creature had eaten his elbow guard, Sanval was ready. He had undone the remaining shoulder guard and held it in his hand. As the bug-head swung toward him, Sanval did another arched toss, and the bug-head did another follow-it-with-the-eyes turn. The guard crashed into the corner and was rust almost before it landed-a large pile of rust: a feast for the beast. The rust monster curved its humped back, crouched as close to the floor as possible, and let its wicked tail sag as it chomped away.
The back was leathery, the tail was hard-as-shell plates, which only left the head and legs. Clutching his boot closed by its cuff, Sanval leaped forward and landed on his stocking-clad foot. The silk of his stocking made his landing a little slippery, but he managed to stay upright. Sanval swung the stone-filled boot down on top of the creature's head while kicking his booted foot at a jutting joint of its back leg. The joint cracked. The monster's head swiveled so that the bug's eyes stared up at him. Sanval saw an ante
Although pi
Sanval thought of himself as a rational man, possessed of self-control as well as courtesy, but even as he tried to remember this he heard himself screaming, "Do you know how much my armor cost? And how long I had to wait to get a perfect fit? And how much time it takes poor Godolfin to polish each piece? And how much I have to pay him to do that?"
With each scream he beat at the monster's head, hitting its eyes until they rolled shut, smacking at the ante