After several hours of climbing down stone steps which left his thighs burning, Corath came to a chamber filled with half-finished stone sarcophagi. Some littered the rough-hewn room as if tossed about by a giant. They were either cracked, or shattered outright. The bodies of at least three humanoids the stone coffins once sheltered lay here and there, mostly rotted to bare bone. Coins, gems and other items glinted among the wreckage.
Daelah let out a low whistle as she surveyed the mess. “What do you think did this?”
Corath shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m wondering what they were looking for.”
Daelah crunched over to one of the bodies and crouched next to it. As she examined the corpse, he poked around the room. An ornate fountain, cracked, stained and dry, was built into a small nook. The carving of a rampant dragon in the center of the fountain was still inspiring, despite the patina of age.
Next to the fountain was a stuffed minotaur. It looked like an incredibly tall, powerfully muscled human, covered in shaggy fur, and with the head of a bull. The eyes of the brute were closed in death while one enormous hand clutched the haft of a huge double-bladed greataxe.
“Corath, this one seems like a male half-dragon elf. He’s dressed in the remains of priestly vestments, but the sigil on his robe doesn’t look familiar.”
The Gorauch crossed the room back to his companion and crouched next to her. She tugged the section of the garment with the symbol out so he could see it.
“I’ve seen that symbol before, but I don’t remember where.”
A scuff of a hoof on broken stone came from behind them. Corath over balanced as he tried to turn, but his mind moved faster than his body and he fell on his butt.
The massive head of a greataxe smashed through the bones of the body they’d been examining, sending chips of stone and shards of bone flying through the air, barely missing Daelah who let out a small scream as she fell back.
Corath looked up to see the minotaur he’d though was stuffed lift its weapon to attack him once more.
He pushed against the floor with his heels as the minotaur loomed over him.
It swung the greataxe downward.
He threw his legs wide as the blade crashed into the stone floor, carving a gash into it as stone chips flew through the air.
He shielded his eyes as he rolled backward.
The minotaur slashed the handle of its weapon at his knees.
Corath spun to his right as he rose, managing to grab a heavy chunk of stone that had been a saprophagous lid.
He managed to heave it up intime to intercept the axe.
The weight and momentum drove him to his knees as blade screeched against the slab of stone which groaned from the strike.
As the minotaur bore down with its immense strength, he strained with trembling muscles to guide the stone and attack to the right.
With a cry of effort and sweat running down his cheeks, he managed to do so.
The minotaur kicked out, catching him in the stomach with the force of a battering ram.
The wind exploded out of his now burning ribs as Corath hit the ground, face first.
As he lay against the cold floor, breath slobbering in and out, the minotaur raised a titanic hoof to smash onto his head.
Daelah leaped onto one of its sharp horns with a yell.
Her unexpected weight pulled its head down to the right, opposite its raised leg.
The minotaur overbalanced and crashed down, shaking the floor.
She landed on her feet like a cat and raced over to Corath, snatching his sword from its sheath.
The minotaur rose to its hands and knees, shaking its head.
“Keldur, guide my hand!”
Gripping the hilt with both hands, she raised it up and at its pinnacle, a thin shaft of glittering white light from the heavens struck the tip, engulfing the blade in viridian flames.
She chopped downward at the back of the minotaur’s neck.
The barbed blade clove deep, severing its spine.
The minotaur collapsed with a strangled, whining moo.
Another chop finished the job of killing the creature.
She panted as she attempted to wipe the blood from her face, but only succeeded in smearing it instead.
Corath rose, took her hand, and kissed her palm. “Thank you. You saved my life again.”
She blushed at the palm kiss. “I-I didn’t do it for th-thanks, Corath. “You’re my friend.”
‘She hasn’t pulled away. Interesting.’ “And you’re mine.” He gave her a slow smile.
She became aware of her heart thudding in her chest as a frisson ran through her as he continued to hold her hand. “Ho-how long are you going to hold my hand?” She swallowed.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
He watched her lift her chin, unconsciously exposing more of her neck as he stroked her palm with his thumb. “How long do you want me to hold it?”
Before she could respond, a distant howl echoed eerily through the hall, bouncing off the stone walls.
Corath whirled, drawing his sword and angling it defensively before the sound faded.
Coldness splashed through Daelah as her heart lurched. “What was that?”
He shook his head. “I have no idea. We should prepare ourselves for another battle.”
“Agreed.” She gripped her sigil of Keldur in white knuckled hands, holding it so tight the wood creaked.
The everbright torches dimmed and almost went out, throwing twisting shadows over the floor and ceiling.
Slow, heavy steps came down the hall toward them.
A moment later, the soft giggles of a little girl rang out at the opposite end.
“Is a child in here?”
Corath stared back at her, with a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. “It sounds like it.” He grabbed a torch from the wall, took a deep breath, and ran down the hall after the laughter.
“Wait for me, Corath.”
Chanting came from a closed door to her right. She paused and glanced at it. A sticky, red fluid crept out from under the door, pausing and then coming out a little faster as if it could sense her nearness. The mingled scents of oranges and jasmine came to her nose.
‘I don’t have anything that can help me fight a blood ooze.’ She ran after him.
***
The chamber was filled with alternating onyx and cerulean slabs, though most were cracked and ruined. Relief sculptures on each slab depicted humanoid faces. All appeared to be on fire, with mouths open in agony. A pitted black iron sculpture of a dragon with a five-foot wingspan dangled from the ceiling. Beneath it was an altar made of red-veined marble with runes carved into it. The altar seemed to hum with dim power. A pure white door was at the upper right corner of the room.
Corath tried to read the runes, but couldn’t make them out. “Do you know what these say?”
Daelah shook her head. “I’ve not seen anything like this before, even though they seem like they should be familiar.” She tilted her head back to gaze up at the dragon sculpture. “I wonder if this was a place of worship long ago.” She then glanced to her companion. “Did Teivel say who used to own this tower?”
The Gorauch ran his fingers over the cool stone, tracing the smooth runes. He felt nothing of the earlier hum. “He did not. All he told me was the location, and that the Fist was here.”
“I think it’s haunted.”
He shrugged. “It is possible, but how would we determine that?”
“We could keep our eyes out for spectral plasm as we search for the Fist of Ra.” She rubbed her forearms. “Do you feel cold suddenly?”
“Suddenly? No.” He glanced around the room at the slabs and narrowed his eyes at one. “Did that one shift?” He pointed to it.
She crossed over to it and reached out. Bloody jagged fangs appeared and snapped at her. She yanked back her hand. “Yee!” She squealed.
Corath ran over and thrust kicked at the stone. It rocked back and fell with a crash, breaking into pieces. There was no evidence of the mouth they’d both witnessed.
“Something doesn’t want us on this floor,” he said.
“Was that an illusion, or a ghost?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what spectral plasm looks like, so I couldn’t tell you.”
“I’ve read that it looks like translucent slime.” She moved over to stand beside him while hugging herself. “I don’t like this. Give me a monster, or an undead any day.”
He smirked at her. “Aren’t ghosts undead?”
“I guess so, but this is so spooky.”
“Don’t like mental attacks?”
She shook her head with a shiver. “No. They’re hard for me to deal with. I can't fight what I can’t see.”
His breath became visible. “What would you do if you encountered a Soul Forged?”
“What is that?”
“A warrior who uses their mind like I use my blade.”
“Probably die.”
He snorted. “You should have more faith in yourself.”
She shrugged as she straightened her arms. “I’m a realist.” She stepped to his other side. “The only methods I know of for strengthening my mind against mental attacks, I’m not good at.”
“You get better through repetition.”
“It’s impossible to get better at meditating if you keep falling asleep, instead.” Her voice was almost as desiccating as the desert air outside.
He chuckled. “You have a point.” He gazed around the room once more before heading to the snowy door. It swung freely at his touch and he passed through. The still air felt thick, somehow, as if the room wanted to keep him out.
A plain stone room greeted them. It was bare but for a coating of stone dust untouched for ages, and a short pillar that rose to waist height. Its edges were worn smooth by countless touches over the decades.
The far wall curved inward, and a sealed archway stood in the center of it. The stone blocking the archway seemed to present no seams or other way to open it. He crossed the room, glancing at the pillar before reaching the archway. He ran his fingers over the cool stone, but felt only smoothness. It was the kind formed of magic, rather than by hand or tool.
Daelah paused at the pillar and examined it. She spotted a carving of a dead tree and an ancient brown stain at the base of the tree. “Corath, this looks like a symbol of Kellün, but it’s a dead tree instead of a live one.”
He stepped over and gazed down at it. “Do you think this puzzle is how we get through the archway to continue on our journey?”
“Possible, though I doubt it was a puzzle to those who lived here.”
“Fair point.”
“I’m not sure how we proceed, though. The symbol has me stymied.”
“Might Keldur answer your prayer as to what this is?”
She shook her head. “Mundane prayers go unheeded.” She paused and played with her lower lip, jade eyes half-closed in thought. “Maybe not unheeded, but not really answered, I should say. Keldur prefers his worshipers to figure things out on their own. How would we grow if he did everything for us?”
Corath nodded. He reached out to touch the carving and found the edges smooth, but the trunk rough. “The artisan made it feel like bark, though it is stone.”
“I’d wager that is a clue as to what we should do.”
He scratched his chin as he nodded. “I’d agree.” He folded his fingers and extended his index fingers before his nose and rubbed them together. “Kellün is the God of the Woods and Nature.” He tapped his fingertips together. “One of his symbols is a tree in leaf, but this one is a dead tree.” He raised his right eyebrow. “Or is it dormant like in winter?”
“How do we trigger bud-burst?”
“Normally, that happens when it begins to warm, but since this is a carving…” He dropped his hands and traced the engraving. “The brown stain is another clue.”
Daelah placed her hand on his bicep. “Could it be blood?”
“It might be.” He dipped his head in a nod. “It would fit with what we’ve seen in this place.”
“Who gets to donate?” She stepped to the other side of the pillar. “The only tool we have available is your sword.”
“I’ll do it.” He drew his blade. The broad-bladed great sword with its series of wicked barbs along its lower third shone in the light of the everbright torches. He rested it on the pillar, fuller side down, and pressed his forearm against one of the barbs until it slid into his flesh. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but wasn’t able to hold the grunt in. Scarlet ran down the red-tinged metal and pooled over the etched tree.
The blood flowed along the bumpy design, creeping along the edges and ridges, until it reached the shallow depression at the end. It filled it and then a yellow light flared into existence. It rose in the air, following the path of the trunk and branches of the tree before spreading out and shifting to a beautiful emerald as if the tree had grown leaves.
An answering illumination shone on the sealed archway until the white stone dissolved in a fog of silver. As it swirled around, a deep sepulchral voice came from the other side.
“Welcome, Supplicants. Enter freely and of your own will, and perhaps…, leave behind some of the happiness you bring.”
