6. NO LITTLE LAMB
Nanoc forced the final doors open, and the trio pushed through into the dank heart of the maze. It was as if the barn had been half-eaten by a cave: straw bales were piled up on one side of the walls beneath a row of dripping stalactites. A rusty pitchfork lay in a puddle of purple goo, and a pair of handle-less buckets, had been left in the center of the barn.
Possessed sheep lined the walls, silent but glaring. Rotcel ‘Loc jumped when she saw them, but Dren stopped her from throwing one of her knives at them.
“They’re waiting,” Dren whispered. “For an order from their master, I think. There, at the end of the barn. It waits for us.”
“I…. wait… I… WAIT!”.
The words started as a whisper but quickly became a scream. “I… HUNGER!”
There in the darkness hovered Mary’s lamb, upright as if human, none of its four feet touching the ground. Its eyes glowed purple, and its smile was more shark than sheep. It wore a ring of twisted barbed wire on its head, wound so tight that it cut into the lamb’s flesh and drew blood.
“A magical crown,” Rotcel ‘Loc mumbled, staring at it eagerly.
“Do you know, I’ve read about this. That hat—”
“Crown!” Rotcel ‘Loc snapped.
“—is no doubt boosting the beast’s power. If we can remove the hat—”
“Crown!”
“—we would no doubt greatly reduce the beast’s power,” Dren said, oblivious to Rotcel’s interruptions.
“Right,” Nanoc said. “Get the crown, then fight the beast. That should be easy enough.”
As Nanoc stepped closer to the beast, the light from his flames revealed the lamb to be dangling from the end of an enormous tentacle that looped through the darkness and disappeared into the ground.
“Do you know, that reminds me of something,” Dren said, frowning at a memory from some half-forgotten illustration. “Something important. What was it now? Why am I thinking of fish?”
The floating lamb was waving gently from side to side in the air as it considered the trio.
“Dance… FOR ME!” it demanded. “Laugh! PLAY!”
The words had great power: Nanoc felt his feet begin to move at the sheep’s command, but Dren drew a glowing crystal from one of his many pockets and threw it onto the ground, where it shattered.
“A counter spell,” he whispered, and the tugging at Nanoc’s feet subsided.
“Dance… for ME!” the curse lamb shouted, unaware that it had lost the initiative. “Closer! CLOSER! Why… aren’t you… DANCING?”
“I can do a sort of jig if you like,” Nanoc offered. “Like this, see?”
The gnome moved his feet in a rhymeless shuffle that no race or culture in any universe would recognize as dancing. He hummed, too, which just made things worse.
“How can you… what is… STOP THAT! I said… stop! That… is not… DANCING! Children… show them… what… I NEED!”
The possessed lambs waiting along the walls surged forward, but Dren had spent his time in the corridor reading a book of spells and doing a few calculations. He knew what he needed to do. He was ready for them.
Almost.
“Dren?” Nanoc said, poking the Field Scholar. “You said you had a spell for the minions, right?”
“What? Yes, but can’t we just see what they will do first? I’d like to take notes on—”
“No!” Rotcel shouted. “Do it right now!”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Fine, fine. Tac’s trans-moggie-fy!!”
The nearest devil sheep shrank down, hoofs and horns replaced with furry ears and paws. Within a moment, the sheep had become a small ginger cat, which gave a stunned yowl and dashed away.
“And now we add… Taeper’s echo!” Dren shouted, pointing his pen at each sheep as it approached him.
His trans-moggie-fy spell bounced from its first target to the next, hit the wall, rebounded, and shot like a pinball through the possessed sheep. Within moments the army of possessed sheep had been replaced with a pile of cats of every color. They growled and hissed at each other, all equally annoyed at having to share their space with other cats.
Nanoc sneezed. “You didn’t warn us it would be cats!” he complained. “Shoo! Shoo!”
The cats raced off through the barn, leaving the trio of adventurers alone with Mary’s possessed lamb. The beast growled in annoyance, grinding its teeth loudly.
“My… pets. You took… MY PETS! But this must mean… EXCELLENT!”
It’s mood changed in an instant from angry to eager, and an enormous red tongue emerged from its mouth and licked its lips with a disturbing smoosh
“So my reputation…. has finally brought… heroes to my… LAIR!”
“We were just passing through, actually,” Dren explained. “And we’re not exactly—”
“We’re registered with the Guild,” Nanoc interrupted. “But we can still be reasonable. Leave this place, leave Mary. You can go in peace, or you can stay in pieces. Your choice.”
“To be threatened… by… A GNOME! How… weak. I will… eat… your SKULL!”
“Yeah, I figured you’d say that,” Nanoc said with a grin. “Now let’s see if we can’t get that hat off you!”
“Crown! It’s a crown!” Rotcel yelled.
Nanoc raised his club and charged the floating sheep, which did not try to move away. The gnome was about to reach it when Dren shouted out a warning.
“I remember what it reminds me of! Deep sea fish! The lamb is a lure!” Dren said. “The real beast is below it! Watch out!”
He was just in time – Nanoc managed to stop his charge a second before a vast mouth burst up from the barn, scattering boards and dust as it reached upward to enclose the lamb in a cage of fierce white teeth. Nanoc fell backward as the true body of Mary’s lamb pulled itself up from its hiding place in the ground. It had dozens of tiny eyes set deeply in its malformed skull, and from its skin sprouted a forest of translucent spines. The creature gnashed its teeth, expecting a meal, then roared in frustration when it found nothing in its mouth. It dragged the rest of its body out the hole with a hundred short legs that ended in hooves and looked around for its enemy.
“Where… are… YOU!”
The barn shuddered with the beast’s anger. Nanoc and his friends dived behind a bale of hay, keeping their heads down as the beast stomped through the barn.
“What is that thing—?” Dren asked, surprised.
Nanoc’s identify enemy skill kicked in:
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Lamb-aggoth
Wool and scale, horn and tooth! Before you stands a nightmare, a creation of Horror. This beast is the bane of the farmlands! Flee, mortal, for your end is nigh! Defeat this beast to complete your quest.
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“Uh oh,” Nanoc said.
Horror was the thirteenth born of the third generation of deities, the god of jump scares and melted faces. It – for Horror was one of the few immortals that refused to take a mortal gender – was generally considered to be one of the more unpleasant gods and was not welcome in the Static Empire.
“It’s a creature of Horror,” Nanoc said to his friends. “No wonder the traps were lame.”
“They were… not… LAME!” the monster protested, turning its head from side to side as it looked for the gnome. “They… were… TERRIFYING!”
It glared shortsightedly around the barn, trying to find the gnome or his friends, then wheezed loudly, blowing purple bubbles from its nose. It did not move quickly; it did not need to. There was no way to escape it.
“Why did it have to be a creature of Horror?” Rotcel moaned, hunkering down behind the hay. “They always kill in such messy ways! I don’t want to be melted or spiked!”
“Yes… yes! Fear… ME!” the monster agreed, its massive bulk edging toward the trio as it searched.
Dren had pulled a little book from his bag and paged through it quickly.
“Hornbill.. hornet… no, no, yes, here we go! Horror… born of dark lineage and one filled with suffering for mortal kind. Sired by Cruelty, the tenth born of the second generation, who bore many offspring but only let one survive. Grandchild of Fear, the tenth born of the first generation. Horror’s twin is Romance, of course, but—”
“Come out… come out… LITTLE GNOME!” the lamb-aggoth said, turning at last towards the hay bale. “Dance for me… sing… and I might let you live… although you won’t like it! AAHAHAHA!”
The beast’s words made the hairs on Nanoc’s neck stand up; it sent cold shivers down his spine. The shivers met a fire of anger rising from his belly. Fear spawned Cruelty, Cruelty begat Horror, and Horror created nightmares to scare children, and Nanoc liked children. Horror was traps, mazes without exits, and corrupted lambs. Torment. Enforced dancing. Making teenagers laugh and play. Horror for the sake of entertainment. Nanoc disapproved. Nor was he alone in his dislike: the flame elemental on the end of Nanoc’s club turned its glowing white eyes on the beast. The flame was a creature of Chaos, the ancient enemy of Horror. The goddess Chaos hated Horror but had quite liked Fear, god of pounding hearts and cold sweat, and considered him to be important to keeping mortal lives interesting.
The Lamb-aggoth reared itself up, delivering a roar that shook the barn and fleshy walls. Rotcel ‘Loc and Dren were momentarily cowered by the sound, but Nanoc stood as tall as any gnome ever had.
He was four feet and three inches, and he knew what had to be done.
“This beast is unholy and unwanted,” Nanoc said. “I say we put it out of its misery.”
“It doesn’t look miserable,” Dren pointed out.
“It will be.”