Each glimmering hand of gauzy, insubstantial flesh gripped great spires of rock and dragged the titanic form upward. Now that the gates lay in ruins and the assault was underway, the elves turned their bombards, tilting them downward. None but two were in position to fire. They spoke, booming with an incredible sound at short range. One missed, but the second furrowed a great line of shimmering flesh from the Rainbow’s back. The alien creature arched itself in response. The mouth yawned and loosed a warbling, otherworldly cry of agony. The elves clapped their hands over their ears, more disturbed by the sound of impossibly deep pain than by the roar of the brass-bellied bombards themselves. The Rainbow’s eyes spun with colors. The legs flexed and the knees straightened. Each heaving effort brought the monster a hundred feet closer. Oberon screamed for his elves and the last surviving Merlings to drag back the bombards that had expended their loads.
