As they streaked away, Annon watched for signs of others. Finding none, he moved, walking swiftly to the fallen body of the Rike who had been crushed by the sarcophagus lid. Dried blood had formed a rivulet on his cheek. Annon glanced up at Khiara and saw snakes had spied his movement and were coming at him, slithering across the stone swiftly.
He grasped the cold metal of the torc and then twisted it around so that the open ends were in the back of the man’s neck, facing the floor, instead of being open at his collar. Being so near the corpse made bile rise in Annon’s throat.
A prick of danger in his mind warned him too late. Nizeera growled and screamed and launched herself from the bier. He heard her land behind him, whipped his head around in time to see her snatch a serpent in her teeth and then hurl it away. He saw the bristling fur, the rage in her eyes as she faced the advancing serpents, planting her claws forward defensively.
Annon grasped the ornamental torc with both hands and yanked with all his strength. It was a tight fit around the Rike’s neck and resisted. Planting his foot down on the dead man’s back, he pulled a second time, wresting it free. It came loose suddenly and he flew backward, colliding with the sharp edge of the broken sarcophagus. Pain caused spots to dance in his eyes.
“Nizeera, go!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet.
The great cat hissed and struck at another serpent, catching it with her claws and flinging it aside.
“Nizeera!” he shouted again, springing up and inside the sarcophagus, clutching the torc to his body. She raced away and vaulted up onto another carved lid, her tail lashing triumphantly once before falling perfectly still. He felt the surge of pride come because she had risked herself for him as well a flood of relief. Their emotions were always mixed together.
“Do you have it?” Khiara called from afar.
“Yes,” Annon said, smiling. He stared down at the twisting design, made of bronze it appeared. The symbols were more decorative than arcane, but the look was ancient and had many nicks and scratches. There were two blue gems, shaped as polished spheres, set into each end. Staring closely at them, he could see swirling mist inside each, and little fireflies of magic within. He wished he could hear the spirits trapped inside.
I will free you, he promised. When our journey is through, I will free you. I will free all of you.
He stared at the torc, wondering if he should put it on himself. He remembered how Paedrin had been overcome when putting on a ring the Arch-Rike had given him. He wondered if he would even be able to control its magic.
There was a grinding noise nearby. Annon’s head jerked suddenly at the sound as one of the doors they had entered through was dragged open.
“Annon!” shouted a familiar voice, thick with fear and dread. It was Lukias.
He saw the Rike emerge into the chamber, his face wet with sweat, his expression tortured with worry. The serpents began to converge on him.
“Lukias!” Annon shouted. “The serpents! Shut the door!”
“You survived? By Seithrall you are blessed! Do you have the torc? It repels the snakes.”
“Yes, but they are coming at you! Their venom is—”
“—Fatal, I know! Use the torc. The activation word is Iddawc. Put it on, now!”
Annon stared at the Rike, cringing by the door. He then stared at the torc in his hand. Would it harm him to wear it? Would it subvert him? He did not know. Erasmus had given his life for their quest. He was willing to do the same. The snakes slithered with a frenzy to reach Lukias. The door was ajar. Had Lukias truly come to save them? Or was he there as a spy to reclaim the Arch-Rike’s treasures? He did not have time to reason things through. He needed to trust his own judgment and take a risk.
“Nizeera,” Annon shouted, loud enough so that Khiara could hear him as well. “If the torc harms me or my mind, keen three times.” Inside his mind, he thought to Nizeera, Then help Khiara escape this place of death.
Annon felt the great cat panic as he fastened the torc around his own neck.
“There are reports that the Arch-Rike has made an embassy outside the city. This is a rare occurrence and a sign of the gravity of the situation. His personal ship left the port before dawn and was seen to be sailing westward. He is a great pragmatist and I am certain he would not have left the city himself unless his own persuasive voice was necessary to interrupt the war’s violence. I have not found a more moral being than the Arch-Rike of Kenatos. A moral being, by my definition, is one who is capable of reflecting on his past actions and their motives—of approving of some and disapproving of others. He is always learning.”
He grasped the cold metal of the torc and then twisted it around so that the open ends were in the back of the man’s neck, facing the floor, instead of being open at his collar. Being so near the corpse made bile rise in Annon’s throat.
A prick of danger in his mind warned him too late. Nizeera growled and screamed and launched herself from the bier. He heard her land behind him, whipped his head around in time to see her snatch a serpent in her teeth and then hurl it away. He saw the bristling fur, the rage in her eyes as she faced the advancing serpents, planting her claws forward defensively.
Annon grasped the ornamental torc with both hands and yanked with all his strength. It was a tight fit around the Rike’s neck and resisted. Planting his foot down on the dead man’s back, he pulled a second time, wresting it free. It came loose suddenly and he flew backward, colliding with the sharp edge of the broken sarcophagus. Pain caused spots to dance in his eyes.
“Nizeera, go!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet.
The great cat hissed and struck at another serpent, catching it with her claws and flinging it aside.
“Nizeera!” he shouted again, springing up and inside the sarcophagus, clutching the torc to his body. She raced away and vaulted up onto another carved lid, her tail lashing triumphantly once before falling perfectly still. He felt the surge of pride come because she had risked herself for him as well a flood of relief. Their emotions were always mixed together.
“Do you have it?” Khiara called from afar.
“Yes,” Annon said, smiling. He stared down at the twisting design, made of bronze it appeared. The symbols were more decorative than arcane, but the look was ancient and had many nicks and scratches. There were two blue gems, shaped as polished spheres, set into each end. Staring closely at them, he could see swirling mist inside each, and little fireflies of magic within. He wished he could hear the spirits trapped inside.
I will free you, he promised. When our journey is through, I will free you. I will free all of you.
He stared at the torc, wondering if he should put it on himself. He remembered how Paedrin had been overcome when putting on a ring the Arch-Rike had given him. He wondered if he would even be able to control its magic.
There was a grinding noise nearby. Annon’s head jerked suddenly at the sound as one of the doors they had entered through was dragged open.
“Annon!” shouted a familiar voice, thick with fear and dread. It was Lukias.
He saw the Rike emerge into the chamber, his face wet with sweat, his expression tortured with worry. The serpents began to converge on him.
“Lukias!” Annon shouted. “The serpents! Shut the door!”
“You survived? By Seithrall you are blessed! Do you have the torc? It repels the snakes.”
“Yes, but they are coming at you! Their venom is—”
“—Fatal, I know! Use the torc. The activation word is Iddawc. Put it on, now!”
Annon stared at the Rike, cringing by the door. He then stared at the torc in his hand. Would it harm him to wear it? Would it subvert him? He did not know. Erasmus had given his life for their quest. He was willing to do the same. The snakes slithered with a frenzy to reach Lukias. The door was ajar. Had Lukias truly come to save them? Or was he there as a spy to reclaim the Arch-Rike’s treasures? He did not have time to reason things through. He needed to trust his own judgment and take a risk.
“Nizeera,” Annon shouted, loud enough so that Khiara could hear him as well. “If the torc harms me or my mind, keen three times.” Inside his mind, he thought to Nizeera, Then help Khiara escape this place of death.
Annon felt the great cat panic as he fastened the torc around his own neck.
“There are reports that the Arch-Rike has made an embassy outside the city. This is a rare occurrence and a sign of the gravity of the situation. His personal ship left the port before dawn and was seen to be sailing westward. He is a great pragmatist and I am certain he would not have left the city himself unless his own persuasive voice was necessary to interrupt the war’s violence. I have not found a more moral being than the Arch-Rike of Kenatos. A moral being, by my definition, is one who is capable of reflecting on his past actions and their motives—of approving of some and disapproving of others. He is always learning.”
