Out of the Waters by David Drake

“I’ve counted three hundred and eighteen legs on the side we can see. And we don’t know with a creature like this that the entire underside isn’t covered with legs, instead of them being placed only around the outer rim of the body.”
    He’s been counting, using the position of his fingers as an abacus! Varus realized in a gush of relief. He wasn’t as willing to claim prayer and charms were superstitious twaddle as he might have been a month ago, but it still would have been disturbing to see his teacher descending to such practices.
    Aloud Varus said, “You said, ‘A creature like this,’ master. You think there are more of them?”
    Pandareus laughed. They were probably the only two people in the theater who found humor in the situation. That spoke well for philosophy as a foundation for life, or at least for a dignified death.
    The creature was tearing a path into the island, hurling increasingly large pieces of soil and bedrock into the ocean behind it. Its hundreds of tentacles worked together, waving like a field of barley in a breeze. They groped down into the land, then wrenched loose great chunks of it.
    â€œMaster?” said Varus as he jotted down details of the creature’s legs. They were all serpentine, but some had scales, some had nodules like a gecko’s skin, and the rest included a score of different surfaces and patterns. “It … Does it look to you as though it’s growing larger as it proceeds?”
    â€œVery well observed, Lord Varus,” Pandareus said approvingly. “Note that the channel behind the creature is narrower than the front which his body is cutting now. Perhaps it’s devouring the rock, do you suppose? Though that doesn’t appear to be the case.”
    Varus could see his companions in the Tribunal, but the audience in the belly of the theater was either hidden by the vision of destruction or had vanished into the blur that extended from the visible margins. Except—
    Where the orchestra had been, the three strangers who accompanied Tardus were sharply visible. They glared at the creature as it tore through whatever stood in its way. The mixture of fear and fury in their expressions reminded Varus of caged rats, gnashing their chisel teeth in a desire to chop and gash in the face of certain death.
    â€œLord Varus?” Pandareus said without any hint of emotion in the words. He raised an eyebrow. “Is this your doing, I wonder?”
    â€œNo!” said Varus, angry for an instant. Then, when he had analyzed his response, he was embarrassed.
    â€œI beg your pardon, teacher,” he said. “I was afraid you might be correct. I am afraid you might be correct.”
    â€œYou have mistaken a question for an accusation, my lord,” Pandareus said dryly. “The teacher who failed to train you out of that defensive reflex is to be censured. Furthermore, my question was rather hopeful.”
    He gestured with his open left hand toward the vision. The monster was wreaking destruction at an accelerating pace.
    â€œI’m quite certain of your goodwill toward mankind generally and toward me in particular, you see,” Pandareus said. “I would have been glad to learn that you had brought this thing into being; because if you did not, I have to be concerned about the intentions of who or what is responsible.”
    The creature lifted a block of land greater than its own huge bulk, spun it end for end in its tentacles, and sent it crashing into the sea. The vision dissolved in spray.
    Varus flinched instinctively, but the gout of water seemed not to reach the Tribunal. He had an impossibly good view of what was happening, but none of his other senses were involved.
    â€œMaster,” Varus said, “if I knew what was happening, I would tell you; and if I could stop it, I…”
    The words dried in his throat. Pandareus and, on Varus’ other side, his family, were