The stench of slaughter filled Corath’s nose as he opened the wooden door. The bodies of humans, elves, dwarves and even a half-dragon, all long dead and strangely deflated, lay about the chamber in various stages of decay.

  He shook his head and made to close the door again. ‘Disgusting, but ultimately unimportant.’

  A slight movement on the shadowy floor caught his eye. He stepped in and discovered a tiny humanoid, laying on the floor and peering up at its hand, languidly weaving about.

  ‘A halfling?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘What is she doing?’

  He stepped closer and discovered her eyes were half-lidded. Her skin was pale and waxy, with blue veins standing out harshly against her ashen complexion. Her chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly.

  ‘She looks like a vampire’s victim.’ He leaned over to peer at her neck. Twin punctures in her neck leaked crimson, the only color on her otherwise pallid body. She carried the stench of a bloody and unwashed being.

  ‘She’s definitely a vampire victim. I wish I could save her, but I have no health potions, nor healing magic.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘She’s too near death to move otherwise.’

  Corath turned and crossed the room, shutting the door behind him. To the right of the rope he’d used to lower himself from the roof, a splintered wooden door dangled from a single rusty hinge. ‘I wonder if the dragon did that.’

  He peered into another shadowy. The circular chamber within contained several stone sarcophagi. Their lids were carved with the likeness of an ancient elf with reptilian characteristics. Small rocks crunched underfoot. He moved in and gazed at the one closest to him. ‘This one resembles that girl who’d travelled with Carter six years ago.’ He cocked his head. ‘What was her name again?’ He rubbed his upper lip. ‘Oh, yes. Weija Fujii.’

  He rested his right hand on his hip as he nibbled his left thumbnail. ‘She was obsessed with him, wasn’t she? I wonder if I could use that.’

  Corath turned and left the burial chamber, his steps crunching over old bits of stone and bones. The other rooms were empty of all but a litter of rocks and funerary wrappings. ‘This tower was either a mortuary, or dedicated place of worship for the undead.’ He shuddered. ‘Disgusting.’

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  A stone door stood open at the end of a hall. ‘What’s this?’ He cast his gaze around the opening. ‘This is well-crafted. If It hadn’t been open, I wouldn’t have found it.’

  When he poked his head past the threshold of the door, he spotted a stairwell heading down in a spiral. The floor was dusty, but otherwise clean. ‘I haven’t found the artifact Teivel sent me after yet.’ He went down the stairs with care. The air grew chillier as he descended. ‘I also haven’t heard from him in a while. He must not have further instructions for me.’

  The stairs ended at a long corridor. Shadowy, wide niches opened on either side of the hall. Sarcophagi filled the niches. Corath stepped closer to one. ‘This is a lot more ornate than those upstairs. These elves look a lot more draconic than the others.’ He brushed his fingers over the carving, wiping away some of the centuries old dust which clung to his hand. ‘Going by how big these horns are in comparison to the rest of his head I would say this is the resting place of a half-dragon.’ He sneezed.

  He stepped over to another sarcophagus. This elf wore a full-length tunic, and veil. Her dress was unadorned, but her resting place was adorned with religious iconography. Unlike the others, she was a full-blood. ‘I don’t recognize these symbols. I wonder who she worshipped, and why she’s not a half-dragon.’

  Corath gazed across the hall. ‘That one is different. It seems to be metal while the other two are stone and feels hot in comparison.’ He moved over to the coffin and traced his fingers over it. ‘Jutting jaw, sloped brow, prominent lower teeth and a crest at the top if his head. I’d say you were a draconic-blooded half-orc.’ He leaned forward. ‘Going by the scales carved in, the people who buried you esteemed you highly, and wanted to ensure others knew it was a grandsire or grande dame who was a dragon.’

  He straightened. ‘A dragon on the roof, and dragon-bloods in this mausoleum.’ He tapped his chin. ‘Is this the ancestral home of dragons?’ He shrugged. ‘No matter. Teivel wants this blue-white orb he called The Fist of Ra. I better continue down. See if it’s held below.’

  He moved away from the sarcophagi, back to the stairs. When his left foot went into the floor with an audible click, he shook his head. ‘Sard it. I should have known there would be traps.’ He tensed, ready to spring away from the attack.

  Though he was braced for the unexpected, the lids of the sarcophagi breaking and crumbling made him jolt. He spun, drawing his sword as his heart thudded in his chest.

  Two undead stepped out of their resting places, bringing the smell of dusty decay. One creature looked like a gaunt, nearly skeletal corpse its rib cage filled with horrid, writhing viscera. Its tongue was its most noteworthy feature—long, cartilaginous, and clawed. Despite being long dead, the rot coming from it smelled wet, and its footsteps sloshed.

  The other undead looked like a withered and desiccated corpse, with features hidden beneath centuries-old funereal wrappings and the ragged remnants of a monk’s robes. It moved with a slow, shambling gait and groaned with the weight of the ages.

  ‘Undead.’ He sighed. ‘I am woefully unprepared for this fight.’