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'Help me!'
For a moment his eyes looked up at Rincewind in fear, pain and entreaty. Then they weren't eyes at all, but multi-faceted things on a head that could be called a head only by stretching the definition to its limits. Tentacles and saw-edged legs and talons unfolded to rip Rincewind's rather sparse flesh from his body.
Twoflower, the tower and the red sky all vanished. Time ran slowly, and stopped.
Rincewind bit hard on a tentacle that was trying to pull his face off. As it uncoiled in agony he thrust out a hand and felt it break something hot and squishy.
They were watching. He turned his head, and saw that now he was fighting on the floor of an enormous amphitheatre. On each side tier upon tier of creatures stared down at him, creatures with bodies and faces that appeared to have been made by crossbreeding nightmares. He caught a glimpse of even worse things behind him, huge shadows that stretched into the overcast sky, before the Trymon-monster lunged at him with a barbed sting the size of a spear.
Rincewind dodged sideways, and then swung around with both hands clasped together into one fist that caught the thing in the stomach, or possibly the thorax, with a blow that ended in the satisfying crunch of chitin.
He plunged forward, fighting now out of terror of what would happen if he stopped. The ghostly arena was full of the cluttering of the Dungeon creatures, a wall of rustling sound that hammered at his ears as he struggled. He imagined that sound filling the Disc, and he flung blow after blow to save the world of men, to preserve the little circle of firelight in the dark night of chaos and to lose the gap through which the nightmare was advancing. But mainly he hit it to stop it hitting back.
Claws or talons drew white-hotlines across his back, and something bit his shoulder, but he found a nest of soft tubes among all the hairs and scales and squeezed it hard.
An arm barbed with spikes swept him away, and he rolled over in the gritty black dust.
Instinctively he curled into a ball, but nothing happened. Instead of the onslaught of fury he expected he opened his eyes to see the creature limping away from him, various liquids leaking from it.
It was the first time anything had ever run away from Rincewind.
He dived after it, caught a scaly leg, and wrenched. The creature chittered at him and flailed desperately with such appendages as were still working, but Rincewind's grip was unshakeable. He pulled himself up and planted one last satisfying blow into its remaining eye. It screamed, and ran. And there was only one place for it to run to.
The tower and the red sky came back with the click of restored time.
As soon as he felt the press of the flagstones under his feet Rincewind flung his weight to one side and rolled on his back with the frantic creature at arms' length.
'Now!' he yelled.
'Now what?' said Twoflower. 'Oh. Yes. Right!'
He swung the sword inexpertly but with some force, missing Rincewind by inches and burying it deeply in the Thing. There was a shrill buzzing, as though he had smashed a wasp's nest, and the melee of arms and legs and tentacles flailed in agony. It rolled again, screaming and thrashing at the flagstones, and then it was thrashing at nothing at all because it had rolled over the edge of the stairway, taking Rincewind with it.
There was a squelching noise as it bounced off a few of the stone steps, and then a distant and disappearing shriek as it tumbled the depth of the tower.
Finally there was a dull explosion and a flash of octarine light.
Then Twoflower was alone on the top of the tower – alone, that is, except for seven wizards who still seemed to be frozen to the spot.
He sat bewildered as seven fireballs rose out of the blackness and plunged into the discarded Octavo, which suddenly looked its old self and far more interesting.
'Oh dear,' he said. 'I suppose they're the Spells.'
'Twoflower.' The voice was hollow and echoing, and just recognisable as Rincewind's.
Twoflower stopped with his hand halfway to the book.
'Yes?' he said. 'Is that – is that you, Rincewind?'
'Yes,' said the voice, resonant with the tones of the grave. 'And there is something very important I want you to do for me, Twoflower.'
Twofiower looked around. He pulled himself together. So the fate of the Disc would depend on him, after all.
'I'm ready,' he said, his voice vibrating with pride. 'What is it you want me to do?'
'First, I want you to listen very carefully,' said Rincewind's disembodied voice patiently.
'I'm listening.'
