Riley considered the offer. He supposed getting more coins would be beneficial, the thought lingering as he roamed his eyes along Fagan’s assortment of weapons and armour. No doubt the traders closer to civilization had even better, more expensive wares.

  But, more than that, the prospect of killing strong enemies in this tomb and gathering their Essence was too good to ignore.

  “I guess I could take a look.”

  “Wonderful. It is dangerous, I shan’t lie. But, ah, you’re a Warden aren’t you? Immortality is a powerful weapon. Whatever may kill you, you can still come back and overcome.”

  Riley fought the urge to roll his eyes. To an outsider it must have seemed nice, but dying was still the worst pain imaginable every time it had happened. “Any idea what might be living in this catacomb?” he asked.

  “Who can say?” Fagan shrugged his gangly shoulders, a movement that highlighted the many sharp angles of his physique. “But the tombs of the world make fine habitats for many nasty things. And the Picts were known to leave dangerous traps for their enemies.”

  “Joy.”

  Dangerous, perhaps, but we may meet more allies in the shadows, said Mesquard.

  Riley watched as the trader raised a hand, his bony finger pointing into the distant gloom. “Due east, you will start to see decaying stone pillars partway devoured by the earth. Follow them as guideposts, and you will find the Pictish temple.” He turned and went to leave, folding up the screens of his wagon. “Are you heading to Brace, perchance? Then we may meet again.”

  “You’re seriously travelling through here on your own? It’s... kind of dangerous,” Riley said.

  Another rasping chuckle rose in Fagan’s throat. “Many’s the fool who have underestimated Fagan the Sweetman.” He ventured off, and his rickety wagon wheels and discordant singing faded steadily into the distance.

  Riley slept through that night without issue. Come the morning the group had a simple breakfast of grains and broke camp. Scarlet was fed and watered, but Riley had to guide her by the reins because the space between the trees was too narrow to ride through.

  Occasionally he would pause and scan the area with Sense Life, only pressing on when things felt safe enough to do so. “What do you know about the Picts?” Riley asked.

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  Arubis folded her hands in her sleeves, dutifully following his lead. “An ancient people. Forest dwellers. Many of them in Vergoll were destroyed long ago. I suppose the equivalent from your world may be... elves?”

  “Elves, huh,” Riley murmured. He thought about the elves he had seen in pop culture, and thought of shining cities, and gleaming swords. And, yes, a close tie to nature. But it seemed the Picts had more of a rustic, tribal vibe to them. When they had lived, at least.

  It did not take long for him to find the first stone pillar, overgrown with moss and grass, the surface sporting faces carved into it. From there he found more posts, one after the other, having to pick his way through the foliage and trees to do so.

  Occasionally he found himself faced against coyote-sized critters who rushed his way from the brush. Minor threats, easily dispatched. Whenever he saw a gathering of trees, he would halt and scan them with Sense Life, only pressing on whenever he was certain they were normal trees.

  Then, gradually, the trees and fog parted to reveal a structure that had been partway overgrown with moss and vines. A stone temple that reminded Riley briefly of an ancient Mesoamerican pyramid. The entrance was a yawning black chasm, with fog seeping from it. A shiver raced through Riley’s body at the sight of it.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a great idea.”

  “All will be well. There is no challenge you cannot overcome.” Arubis smiled at him as he hitched Scarlet to a narby tree. “And the challenge here may be what you crave, if strength is your wish.”

  Riley nodded and reluctantly ventured inside, securing his mask as he went. He made a point to dry his emberstone torch with the hem of his coat, and then dragged the dry surface along the stone wall. Sparks lit up from the impact and ignited the surface, casting warm orange light into the tunnel. Dust, more than an inch thick, coated the floor and rose in swirls whenever Riley took a step deeper inside.

  Something pale glinted just ahead, and Riley ventured cautiously toward it. He gripped his staff in his other hand, his mouth running dry. He drew close enough for the torchlight grew bright enough to illuminate a small, foot-sized Lodestone. It lit up as he touched it, the smoky light flickering within the jagged depths of the stone.

  “That’s something at least,” Riley murmured. The words echoed down the halls of the catacomb, like a chorus of whispers. Perhaps the first words to be spoken within these walls in centuries.

  I hate to say it, but this almost makes my homeland seem positively beautiful in comparison. Mesquard twitched is whiskers and retreated to his pocket.

  “Hopefully we won’t be here too long, bud.”

  He gripped his staff tighter, the leather in his gloves straining. He took a step down the tight corridor and took a moment to light up the ancient sconces in passing. His footteps echoed ahead of him for a considerable distance.

  Then, as he neared a doorway, he came to a halt. The echoing of his footsteps ceased and were replaced with a different sound that sent a shiver racing down Riley’s spine. Something was skittering about in the darkness ahead of him.

  Inwardly, he cursed his own curiosity. And Fagan for suggesting this place to him. But if he could derive wealth and Essence from this place, then so be it.

  He ventured deeper inside and entered the first room. Stone slabs were laid out, six in total, and long dead skeletons lay mummified on each of them. Their clothes had long rotted away into ragged strips. Save for the stone masks they wore, carved from jade to resemble the pointed spokes of a rising sun.

  On one level, Riley certainly felt bad about grave robbing. And he certainly understood how wrong it was to plunder from indigenous people. But, on the other hand, he was facing the end of the world. He had to do whatever he could to not only survive, but win too. Sacrificing some of his moral compunctions was another price to pay.

  He reached over to grab one of the masks.

  The skeleton, in turn, jerked a hand up to grab at him.