But even that brief action gave Daryus the opening he finally needed. Daryus lunged, cutting past the pitborn’s blade and catching the assassin in the side. While not a deep cut, it acted with the other wound to finally slow the pitborn. Glaring, the horned demonspawn started to retreat—and promptly fell back over something Daryus did not see.
Daryus took a step toward his foe, but before he could do anything, the assassin suddenly contorted. He opened his mouth in a silent scream … then slumped.
Daryus had no chance to see what had caused the assassin’s death, for the sounds of struggle behind him grew louder and more desperate. Despite her expertise, Harricka was having trouble keeping her chokehold on the larger pitborn, who pulled at her arm with one hand while drawing his sword with the other. Given time, Daryus knew there was a good chance the assassin would break free.
He brought the tip of his own sword to the pitborn’s face. The assassin’s gaze narrowed. He lowered his weapon … then brought it up again in a desperate thrust at Daryus.
Daryus ran him through. He would not get any useful information from the pitborn, and taking him prisoner would just make things more complex, especially when it came to tracking Shiera and the mercenaries.
Harricka eyed him with mild surprise as the dead pitborn slipped from her grip. That allowed Daryus to grab at the assassin’s side for something he had seen there earlier.
Before Harricka realized what he was doing, Daryus stuck her in the arm with one of the assassin’s sleep darts. She had a moment to try to reach for him, then slumped forward.
Dropping the dart, he seized her before she could fall.
“Sorry, Captain.” Daryus brought her back to the campfire, where he bound her. He then turned his attention back to Raffan, whom he had left unconscious nearby.
The body was gone.
Frowning, Daryus looked to the horses. One of them was missing.
“Toy! Where are you?”
Somewhat to his surprise, the weasel actually popped out from the stones nearest to Harricka. “Bravo, Master Daryus! They are dead! They are dead!”
“Where’s Raffan, Toy?”
The familiar blinked. “How would I know?”
“Where is he? He didn’t just ride off, did he?”
“Master Daryus! I swear!”
Daryus hesitated. He studied Harricka. He had purposely only pricked her lightly. With grim determination, Daryus took water to the unconscious crusader. Propping her up, he splashed some of it in her face.
The moment she woke, the captain struggled. After a few seconds of futility, Harricka realized what was going on around her.
“Such gratitude,” the captain growled.
“Gratitude? I would’ve been next, wouldn’t I?”
“Of course.”
Daryus had to admire her bluntness, at least. “The young man. Did you do something with him?”
“This will not end here, Daryus Gaunt. You will either have to surrender or kill me.”
Daryus wondered if he had been so single-minded when he had been of the order. “Let me repeat myself. The young man, Harricka. Did you do anything with him?”
“I freed myself and slipped to the horses. I took one and brought it around. You were just beginning to face the first assassin when I got to the one you mean. I thought it best to put him on the animal and then guide both off. I assumed you could take on the assassins long enough for me to get him to safety.”
“You were trying to protect him. How suddenly magnanimous of you.”
“He was an innocent.”
Feeling a bit better about Raffan’s safety, Daryus asked, “Where’d you guide the horse? Which direction?”
After a moment, Harricka replied, “Over to the east. Just beyond the camp. I tied the horse loosely to a small, gnarled tree in case I needed to get him farther away. You should see him there. That dart the assassin used should be wearing off about now, at least if what you did to me is anything to judge by.”
It did not surprise Daryus to know that the captain had seen the darts before. Glad to hear that Raffan would be all right, Daryus quickly went in the direction Harricka had indicated.
But when he reached where Raffan should have been, it was to only find a few hoofprints stretched far apart and heading, of all places, deeper into the Worldwound.
Crouching, Daryus tried to follow the trail farther, but the darkness hid it. Still, he had some idea where the horse would have to go.
As he turned, he noticed something else. He took a short but careful look to verify what it was, then hurried back to the campsite.
Harricka Morn remained where he had left her. “Where is he?”
“Gone. The horse ran off.” Daryus went to the other animals. Mounting his own, he took the reins of the one with the most supplies alongside him.
“You’re going to leave me like this?”
“You did well enough before.”
The captain scowled. “You have done a better job of tying me up this time.”
Daryus pointed at the weapons of the dead. “They should be useful enough. By the time you’re free, I’ll be far enough away. Would your superiors really want you riding alone out here?”
Urging his horse on, Daryus left without another word. As he reached the far end of the camp, he felt Toy leap up behind him.
“She will escape?” the familiar whispered.
“Eventually.” Daryus focused ahead. “Very soon, actually, but not soon enough to follow, if she has any sense.”
“You will track the other human?”
“You know I will.”
Toy said nothing. Daryus was not certain whether that had to do with the familiar’s driving desire to push on farther into the Worldwound or because he recognized in Daryus’s answer that the human knew the truth about Raffan’s disappearance.
The prints had been slight, yet even in the dim light of the far-off campfire, Daryus had recognized the two marks matching Toy’s paws. The weasel had undone the reins. The weasel had sent off Raffan’s already-spooked horse, not caring at all where Raffan went so long as it meant Daryus would proceed deeper into the Worldwound and not think of turning back.
The weasel had a plan … and everyone, including Daryus, was expendable.
18
THE WOLVES
Shiera stood there in awe, unable to take her gaze from those of the two single-eyed wolves. Then, she began to notice just how still they stood, even when she finally took a step to the side.
Only as Shiera dared move a bit closer did she realize that these were statues.
“This can’t be a coincidence,” she muttered. She removed the coin from the pouch. Not at all to her surprise, it had no touch of cold.
“You are tied to this,” she murmured to the statues. “Now if you could only talk … but that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?”
Shiera smiled grimly. These statues must be meant to guard something, but what? And why did it seem that some mysterious force wanted her to find the tomb?
To her horror, from not that far away, she heard the now-familiar chittering.
Shiera quickly put away the coin and readied her crossbow.
The sounds grew nearer. She whirled around just as the brush behind her suddenly rustled madly.
Four vescavors fluttered up from brush, gaping mouths snapping hungrily at her. Behind them, the brush stirred more. This swarm had apparently learned to keep to the ground until near their prey. Their gibbering only arose when they thought they were near enough that the prey could not escape—a fact not lost on Shiera.
Shiera stared at the swarm, realizing that with each encounter—and two healthy horses—she had been constantly drawing the vermin to her from all around the area. Such a feast as she had unintentionally offered could not be ignored by the monsters, who probably subsisted on their own kind as much as other victims.
She fired, bringing down the first. The nearest monsters turned on their wounded comrade, tearing it to shre
ds.
Unfortunately, the reprieve lasted only seconds. More of the bizarre beasts swooped in out of the darkness. One buzzed her head, teeth nicking her scalp and tearing hair as she ducked.
Stepping back, Shiera quickly reloaded. She had no idea what to do except keep firing and hope for a miracle. Without a horse, she could not outrun the swarm.
Shiera managed a second shot, but to her frustration, her target veered aside. She stumbled into one of the statues as she sought for another bolt. Shiera cursed, the collision costing her precious seconds. Slipping around the stone wolf, she continued her efforts. The statue wasn’t much defense, but it was something.
To her surprise, the swarm didn’t follow, instead buzzing back and forth just beyond the statues. Shiera raised her crossbow, but paused. She was not certain if firing on them would start the swarm attacking again.
Shiera rested a hand on the nearby statue, only to pull back out of surprise. The statue had a soft texture to it, almost as if it were fur instead of stone.
At the same time, she noticed the eye was glowing faintly. A swift glance at the other statue revealed that its eye also glowed.
The swarm’s numbers increased, yet all paused before the cyclopean wolves. Was it her imagination, or did they seem mesmerized by the eyes?
“Good boy,” Shiera breathed, patting the first statue as she tried to figure out what to do. The coin—or whatever power controlled it—had guided her this far. It could be no coincidence that she had come upon these statues. This place had meaning. Shiera did not think the tomb was here … but it was somehow connected to these statues.
With one wary eye on the swarm, she studied the area behind the statues. For the first time, she noted beneath her feet a marbled floor half-hidden by dust. Crouching, she found two odd indentations shaped like feet that, if she stood in them, would enable her to just reach the back of the head of each wolf.
Despite common sense screaming at her to keep a weapon in hand, she removed the bolt and slung the crossbow at her side. Then, with caution, she stretched her fingers to the first statue.
She again felt what seemed like fur … but also something else. A round mark that grew warm to the touch. She probed at it and found her finger sinking in.
The swarm started chittering.
Shiera felt a moment of displacement and pulled her hand back. The sensation passed, as did the gibbering. Once more, the swarm hovered, eerily silent.
She looked around. The vague outline of a wall caught her attention. Once, the wolves had stood inside a small temple or other structure, of which only the wolves and the floor remained. She bent and ran her fingers over a part of the floor, noting that it had been sealed well. The builders had been determined that the statues and the floor would last, no matter what happened to the rest of the building.
As Shiera rose, she saw with much consternation that the swarm had increased in numbers again. She wondered if there were limits to the wolves’ power, which she imagined had to be some defensive measure against any invader of the temple.
Once again, she set her feet in the indentations. Gritting her teeth, she checked the second statue. Sure enough, there was an identical mark there.
She made a decision. Placing a finger on each mark, she took a deep breath.
A shape vastly larger than any of the creatures thus far arose from the brush. Although it was only a silhouette, Shiera realized that the swarm’s queen had finally arrived.
As if the queen’s coming had removed the wolves’ spell, the other fiends started to move toward Shiera.
Praying that she had judged correctly, Shiera pressed the marks simultaneously.
The peculiar silence engulfed her once more. Shiera again felt a sense of displacement, but now far more intense than previously.
For a brief moment, it was as if the world ceased to exist. Then, suddenly, there was wind and ground and the dark of night.
But no more stone wolves … and certainly no more savage swarm. As Shiera had suspected, the sense of displacement was due to the wolves and the floor opening a doorway to another place. She had heard of such things from other Pathfinders, but had until now never confronted such a discovery herself.
She looked around, trying to get her bearings. A marble framework met her gaze, the cracked stone still managing to bear enough weight to enable at least a partial opening to remain, tunneling into the stony hillside.
An entrance, but to where? Uhl-Adanar itself, or somewhere else?
The structure looked as if it had been ancient even before the coming of the Worldwound. Shiera knew that from many angles it would have gone unseen. On a hunch, she pulled out the coin. It was cool to the touch in a surprisingly comfortable way.
Putting the coin away again, she drew her sword and carefully approached the entrance. With her free hand, she ran over what was left of the frame. She felt vague impressions, a series of carved symbols sanded it obscurity by centuries of weathering. Despite her skills, she could not make out anything. Shiera peered close, but doubted she could have read anything even if it had been the height of day with a shining sun behind her. Still, the entrance’s very existence, and the magic leading to it, hinted at much.
All that remained of the passage through was a narrow slit that at first Shiera feared might be too small for her to fit through. Forced to momentarily sheathe the sword, Shiera squeezed into it. Even then, midway through, she found herself stuck. Exhaling as far as she could, Shiera managed to push on the last few inches.
She entered complete darkness.
Shiera located her tinderbox and one of two small candles she carried. A few seconds later, she had at least some dim light to help guide her.
Her first glimpse of her surroundings included generations of webs. Spiders ranging from the very minute to nearly the size of her palm skittered away. Other bugs and crawling creatures rushed off in every direction. Unperturbed by her newfound companions, Shiera drew her sword once more and took a few steps deeper into the ruined structure.
A gaping skull stared back at her.
Shiera grimaced. The skull was attached to what remained of a robed figure seemingly floating before her. The cause of death was readily evident; the savage iron spike impaling the man from behind had left him forever a macabre sentry.
Using her sword, Shiera tapped the tip of the spike. Part of the point crumbled off, a sign of just how long ago the man had perished
Shiera felt both warier and more excited. No one set traps who did not have something worth protecting. She began studying the walls with more interest, not only searching for other carvings, but also for any hints of traps that might lie hidden behind them.
She found what she could be one of the latter first: a small hole drilled in the rock. She looked around at the floor and saw one piece of the rocky surface that seemed slightly askew. Leaning back, she slid one foot to the spot in question.
There was a hiss and something popped out of the wall. It fell short, dropping a few inches from her foot.
Chuckling, Shiera nudged it aside. As originally constructed, the trap should have shot a dart filled with a long-lasting but quick-reacting poison. Pathfinders had been killed by such in more than one excavation. The hole, set at what was generally shoulder height, should have sent the missile flying into the victim’s neck. However, so much time had passed that the springs or other mechanisms used had begun to decay.
Despite that heartening sign, Shiera moved carefully as she wended her way through the narrow passage. While the one trap had failed, other types must have survived the ages better.
However, it was not some timeworn trap that finally bested her, but rather the much more mundane thing she had most feared. The passage ended abruptly in a collapse. Tons of rock filled the rest of the passage ahead, thoroughly halting her.
A short epithet escaped her. She had not come this far to simply give up. Shiera held the candle close to the rockfall, studying the position of the fallen stones. After a lon
g moment, she shifted a few strategic pieces of rubble, revealing a gap through which she might fit. Candle and sword held tight, she wiggled through.
The passage she came out in was cleaner, less touched by time or spiders. The air was stale, but breathable, which to Shiera meant there was some sort of flow, just not very strong. That encouraged her to continue her trek through the ancient edifice.
However, after several more minutes of walking and seeing nothing of import—not even an old trap—Shiera started to grow frustrated. The ancient structure had to have had a purpose other than to drive her mad. She had to be on the right trail—
And there it suddenly hung before her, larger than any previous incarnation and outlined in gold and silver ornamentation: a huge profile of the one-eyed wolf, positioned to face the etched script that Shiera Tristane already recognized so easily as a name … or a title.
Tzadn.
The Reaper.
19
SPAWN
Daryus raced through the night, now forced to delay his pursuit of Shiera and her kidnappers in order to catch Raffan before he rode into some monstrous danger in the Worldwound. He considered abandoning the young man and continuing on after Shiera, but, to his relief, Raffan’s mount appeared to be heading along the same trail Daryus believed Galifar and his men would have chosen.
Still, hours passed before he saw any actual hint of Raffan. The first trace came near dawn, when a wrinkled white object in the dirt proved to be a fairly fresh handkerchief. Another few miles on, Daryus discovered one of Raffan’s gloves.
And finally, at just about what was laughingly called sunrise—a sunrise draped in a sulfuric fog that Daryus did his best to circumvent—he spotted the other man’s horse.
Daryus felt some initial concern when he saw no one near the animal. He pondered places behind him where Raffan might have fallen off and rolled out of view. Then, just as he was about to turn back, he heard a retching sound.
Daryus urged his mount forward to find Raffan on his knees, apparently trying in vain to throw up. The reason for his attempt was very clear.
Pathfinder Tales--Reaper's Eye Page 17