Annon stared into Lukias’s fearful eyes. “I don’t blame you. That is why I am giving you a choice. You have been wrong about our chances so far. You may be wrong about the future as well. If we succeed and the Arch-Rike falls, you have lost nothing you would not lose anyway.”
“Persuasive,” Lukias replied, “but not convincing. I die either way. I respect you, Annon. I do not lie. You have great power and a cunning mind. There is wisdom in you despite your youth. I know what dangers lie ahead. I know what you face. Believe me, I do not think you can succeed. The dangers ahead will kill you.”
“We have no alternative but to succeed,” Annon said. He glanced at Khiara and nodded.
With a swift blow, she struck the side of Lukias’s neck with the flat of her hand. Erasmus caught Lukias as he fell. The Preachán withdrew a coil of rope from his pack and began securing Lukias’s wrists behind his back and his ankles together.
“Help me,” Erasmus said to Annon and the two hauled him to the side of the door. Erasmus withdrew a band of cloth next and then fixed it as a gag in Lukias’s mouth.
“We should kill him,” Erasmus said with a sniff. “It would improve the odds of our survival considerably. But I know the Vaettir are squeamish about such things even though he will die anyway, after the Arch-Rike questions him.”
“No,” Khiara said, her expression tightening with anger. “He will die when the keramat fails.”
“We will not kill him,” Annon replied sternly to Erasmus. “He had a chance to choose.” He turned to the doorframe and discovered some unlit torches hanging in brackets along the wall. Using the flaming sphere in his hand, he lit several before handing them to the others and taking one himself. “Let’s find Nizeera.”
Erasmus sighed, rubbing his wrist as he held up the torch and let the light chase off ahead. “Remember the dark of Drosta’s Lair, Annon?”
“I have a sense this will be more difficult than what we faced there, Erasmus,” he replied, staring down the dark shaft of the tunnel. The uneven edges angled downward into the smothering blackness. The air felt stale and thin and had a moldy smell. The burning pitch from the torches did not improve on it.
“I agree with your prediction. Who is coming? Is that Nizeera?”
A glowing set of eyes appeared in the vastness ahead of them, reflected by the torches. Nizeera padded forward into the light. Her muzzle gleamed with blood.
“I have spent some little time delving into the studies of the Rikes of Seithrall. They are experts at the anatomy of all life forms, both human and animal. When you visit their temples, you see the remains of the skeletal lineaments, bleached white and fastened together with metal wires. They study these in great detail. They have large glass vials full of oil and internal organs. They are the masters of embalmment. When a pauper dies, rather than burying them in a public cemetery, the corpses are studied and meticulously recorded regarding the cause of death and the condition of the various organs and tissues. They harvest this knowledge that they may learn to prevent and treat illnesses and document their knowledge in The Book of Breathings. They truly are the overseers of death. It is even whispered amongst some in the population, the more superstitious ones, that the very touch of a Rike of Seithrall can induce death. This is, of course, a foolish belief.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Annon stared at the cat’s grisly maw. A sickening fear washed through him, turning his bones into water. Nizeera?
He is dead, Nizeera thought to him. The hackles on her back were ruffled and spiky. These tunnels smell of the dead, Druidecht. There is great evil guarding this place.
Annon knelt as she approached. What did you see? Why did you kill him?
She shook her head slowly. Somehow he knew I was behind him. He invoked some magic that blinded me and then sent a crossbow bolt at me. When he missed, I charged and he fled toward an archway in the dark. Great magic lay beyond it. I knew if he crossed, I might not be able to follow. I caught his heel as he was nearly through and dragged him out.
Her tail lashed and swayed.
He did not cry out. The portal beyond reeks of magic. Follow me.
Sighing with dread, Annon motioned the others to follow him. He was grateful the bolt hadn’t struck her. His fear deepened. The darkness was barely dispelled by the light from their three torches. It illuminated only a short way ahead as if the tunnel could swallow light. Annon felt his breath quicken as well as his pulse. Sweat began to trickle down his back as they walked, the weight of the mountain pressing heavily as they descended deeper. Tributaries branched off regularly along the way, like branches sprouting from a vine. Above each one, a stone piece of slate was fixed from iron pegs with symbols traced in chalk. He could not read the language.
“Persuasive,” Lukias replied, “but not convincing. I die either way. I respect you, Annon. I do not lie. You have great power and a cunning mind. There is wisdom in you despite your youth. I know what dangers lie ahead. I know what you face. Believe me, I do not think you can succeed. The dangers ahead will kill you.”
“We have no alternative but to succeed,” Annon said. He glanced at Khiara and nodded.
With a swift blow, she struck the side of Lukias’s neck with the flat of her hand. Erasmus caught Lukias as he fell. The Preachán withdrew a coil of rope from his pack and began securing Lukias’s wrists behind his back and his ankles together.
“Help me,” Erasmus said to Annon and the two hauled him to the side of the door. Erasmus withdrew a band of cloth next and then fixed it as a gag in Lukias’s mouth.
“We should kill him,” Erasmus said with a sniff. “It would improve the odds of our survival considerably. But I know the Vaettir are squeamish about such things even though he will die anyway, after the Arch-Rike questions him.”
“No,” Khiara said, her expression tightening with anger. “He will die when the keramat fails.”
“We will not kill him,” Annon replied sternly to Erasmus. “He had a chance to choose.” He turned to the doorframe and discovered some unlit torches hanging in brackets along the wall. Using the flaming sphere in his hand, he lit several before handing them to the others and taking one himself. “Let’s find Nizeera.”
Erasmus sighed, rubbing his wrist as he held up the torch and let the light chase off ahead. “Remember the dark of Drosta’s Lair, Annon?”
“I have a sense this will be more difficult than what we faced there, Erasmus,” he replied, staring down the dark shaft of the tunnel. The uneven edges angled downward into the smothering blackness. The air felt stale and thin and had a moldy smell. The burning pitch from the torches did not improve on it.
“I agree with your prediction. Who is coming? Is that Nizeera?”
A glowing set of eyes appeared in the vastness ahead of them, reflected by the torches. Nizeera padded forward into the light. Her muzzle gleamed with blood.
“I have spent some little time delving into the studies of the Rikes of Seithrall. They are experts at the anatomy of all life forms, both human and animal. When you visit their temples, you see the remains of the skeletal lineaments, bleached white and fastened together with metal wires. They study these in great detail. They have large glass vials full of oil and internal organs. They are the masters of embalmment. When a pauper dies, rather than burying them in a public cemetery, the corpses are studied and meticulously recorded regarding the cause of death and the condition of the various organs and tissues. They harvest this knowledge that they may learn to prevent and treat illnesses and document their knowledge in The Book of Breathings. They truly are the overseers of death. It is even whispered amongst some in the population, the more superstitious ones, that the very touch of a Rike of Seithrall can induce death. This is, of course, a foolish belief.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Annon stared at the cat’s grisly maw. A sickening fear washed through him, turning his bones into water. Nizeera?
He is dead, Nizeera thought to him. The hackles on her back were ruffled and spiky. These tunnels smell of the dead, Druidecht. There is great evil guarding this place.
Annon knelt as she approached. What did you see? Why did you kill him?
She shook her head slowly. Somehow he knew I was behind him. He invoked some magic that blinded me and then sent a crossbow bolt at me. When he missed, I charged and he fled toward an archway in the dark. Great magic lay beyond it. I knew if he crossed, I might not be able to follow. I caught his heel as he was nearly through and dragged him out.
Her tail lashed and swayed.
He did not cry out. The portal beyond reeks of magic. Follow me.
Sighing with dread, Annon motioned the others to follow him. He was grateful the bolt hadn’t struck her. His fear deepened. The darkness was barely dispelled by the light from their three torches. It illuminated only a short way ahead as if the tunnel could swallow light. Annon felt his breath quicken as well as his pulse. Sweat began to trickle down his back as they walked, the weight of the mountain pressing heavily as they descended deeper. Tributaries branched off regularly along the way, like branches sprouting from a vine. Above each one, a stone piece of slate was fixed from iron pegs with symbols traced in chalk. He could not read the language.
