Now, they staggered on in the new light, the Romans calling out praise to their gods as the warmth of the dawn began to take hold.
Cade knew they had been lucky not to be set upon by predators. They had made no secret of their travels, crashing through the jungles without a care for the noise and light they gave off.
They had covered a lot of ground that night, their speed only increased with their desperation and in the knowledge that their enemies would not be far behind. Gone was the careful chopping of a path; instead they battled thorns as they had done earlier, ripping at the tangled undergrowth, careless of injury.
The rain was both a blessing and a curse. Their footprints were easily read in the muddied ground behind them, but at the same time Cade wondered if the slavers would brave the rain, knowing that their quarry would be so easily tracked come daytime.
Cade almost missed the tomb entrance. Might have missed it entirely had he not stumbled upon the ledge of stone that announced its presence.
“Stop,” Cade managed, gripping Quintus’s shoulder.
The legionary was glad to do so, and seemingly as one, the men collapsed onto the muddied ground.
It seemed a miracle that they had not lost another man. All were accounted for, haggard faced and broken though they appeared.
“What is it, Cade?” Amber called, bringing up the rear. “Did we make it?”
“It’s here,” Cade called back.
It was not the grand facade that Cade had expected. No statues flanked the steps, nor were there monumental pillars framing cavernous stone doors.
Rather, it was a square frame of dirty, marbled stone, flat against the ground. Large enough to admit two men at a time and seemingly blocked by a pile of rubble, deadwood, and rotting leaves.
“Help me,” Cade asked to nobody in particular, leaning down and pulling at the detritus with thorn-torn hands.
“Here!” called Scott. “There’s a hole.”
Cade let the rocks fall from his hands and stumbled back, ripping his way through the overgrowth. Scott was pointing deeper into the trees, an area strangely barren of flora. Beyond that, Cade could see a ragged tear in the earth, dank and dark as a vixen’s lair.
And a lair it was. As Cade pushed closer, the others following, he could see the mud, trodden to a thick paste outside the cavern. Bones littered the outside, coupled with ragged scraps of fur.
The top of the cave was a straight line, the fallen-in edge of what must have once been a portion of the temple. Now, it had become the den of some unknown predator—a warm, dry shelter from the wind and rain.
The cavernous maw could fit an elephant riding on another’s back with ease. And the bones were troubling—ribs the size of whalebones stood like spars of a great ship in the dirt. Cade dared not think of what sort of creature could drag something that size here, especially through the underbrush.
It was no wonder the Roman expedition had passed by this place.
A string of expletives disturbed Cade’s thoughts. Scott had unleashed his fury upon the world, cursing bitterly beneath his breath.
“It’s a goddamn death trap,” he growled finally as the others crowded at the edge of the clearing. None dared to set foot out of the underbrush.
None but Quintus. The young legionary stepped into the mud, kneeling and inspecting the ground.
“They are not here,” Quintus said in both Latin and then English for everyone’s benefit.
“How do you know?” Atticus hissed from the trees.
Quintus grinned and spread his fingers into what looked like the Vulcan salute from Star Trek, and Cade could not help but chuckle at it, for Quintus had no idea of its significance. Then the legionary slotted his hand into the footprint on the ground, where Cade could now make out the three-toed tracks of a predator heading away from the cave.
It was like one of those patterned illusions where you crossed your eyes and could suddenly see the shapes. Now, the mud was littered with them. Dozens of the things, like chicken feet in flour. But far, far larger.
“They moved after the rain,” Quintus said, sweeping his hand in the direction of the tracks. “Nothing comes back.”
It was true enough. But his friend’s words brought him little relief. Even if these were day hunters that would only come back to the cave at night, they had seven tombs to search before the creatures’ return. And that didn’t account for the slavers, hot on their heels.
“We have no choice,” Amber said. “These slavers aren’t the only ones hunting us. There was a whole armada of them racing here to get you when we left. If we split up and run back to the keep in the state we’re in, none of us will make it.”
Amber kissed Cade on the cheek, her cracked lips rough upon his skin, and stepped out into the mud beside Quintus.
She drew her blade and stalked to the cave mouth, staring into the darkness.
“Come on!” she yelled. “Sooner we’re in, sooner we’re out.”
CHAPTER
46
If the outside of the tomb had shown signs of habitation, the interior left no doubt. The stench of the place was almost unbearable, so heavy they could almost taste it.
The floors were thick with bones, many splintered to fragments by the occupants’ jaws to get at the jellylike marrow within. Cade did not want to think of the bite strength needed to do that.
Animal feces, dried and full of fur, coated the ground almost an inch deep. This was no temporary shelter from wind and rain. This was a den.
“There are torches here,” Atticus called.
They were ensconced in the walls themselves, as if this tomb had been visited by family members at one time or another. These were soon lit, crackling to life despite the many years this place had been here.
Under the new orange glow, men crowded closer, as if the light would protect them from whatever lurked in the darkness.
Only Atticus had the courage to move farther into the cave. As he strode into the gloom with a torch held high, the true scale of their surroundings was revealed.
The floor space they were standing upon was just a ledge of limestone above a broad, dark staircase—one that descended ever deeper into the maw of the tomb. Enormous pillars held up the ceiling, with further plinths embedded in the steps as the stair receded into darkness.
To their left, the true entrance of the temple was packed with rubble and debris, and Cade realized it would have taken them hours to clear it had they not found the collapsed wall.
But it was not this that drew the eye. Rather, it was the enormous statue at the top of the stone staircase. A bearded man, seated with an intricately carved cape over his head and an unrolled papyrus in his hands.
As for the walls, they were decorated with scenes of life and surrounded by colorful hieroglyphics. Men gathered reeds from the swollen banks of a great river, while others dragged enormous square blocks. Both the writing and the art style were undoubtedly Egyptian.
“Whose tomb is this?” Scott asked.
The Codex was swift to respond.
“Imhotep died in 2950 BC. He was the greatest architect of his time and was the first builder in history to use stone, as well as pioneering the use of pillars. As the high priest of Ra and Egypt’s vizier, he was ruler beneath the pharaoh in all but name. So great were his achievements that he was deified as a god himself and would be worshipped by cults for thousands of years. His remains and the grand tomb he was buried in have never been found.”
“Damn,” Scott said after a moment’s silence. “Dude was badass.”
Cade chuckled and stepped closer to the stair’s edge.
“Come on,” he said. “If we’re lucky, the animals that live here don’t go down there.”
His words were hollow though, for he could see well-worn claw marks running down its center.
Still, they had no choice but to go deeper. Cade began the slow descent into darkness.
It was only after a full minute of descending that he began to unders
tand the true scale of the tomb. Not only was the ceiling so high above them that they could no longer see it, but when they approached the bottom he could see that there were other stairs, leading back up, opposite them and to each side.
He stopped, staring.
“What is it?” Amber asked. “Do you hear something?”
“It’s a pyramid,” Cade whispered.
“What?” Scott said, confused. “Do you even know what a pyramid is?”
Cade shook his head and pointed.
“It’s an inverted pyramid,” he said. “It’s genius.”
“Nerd,” Scott said, nudging him good naturedly.
They went on, edging deeper into the darkness, until they reached the very bottom. There, a square of flat ground marked the nadir of the pyramid’s stair, with a large, square coffin at its center.
A bearded man was depicted upon it in an intricate wood carving, painted in gold filigree and studded with colored stones: jet, jade, and lapis lazuli.
“Was this guy a giant or something?” Scott asked. “It’s huge.”
The entire thing was almost as long as a school bus and as tall as Cade’s chest.
Cade cast around, looking for some other doorway or hole in the ground. There was nothing.
“What now?” Amber asked, sidling closer. “I thought there was supposed to be treasure here. And where are the other tombs?”
Cade cursed under his breath and brought up the map of the Codex.
But no, the cluster of tombs was tightly packed together, looking as if they were inside Imhotep’s tomb. It seemed impossible, unless they were somehow built into the steps on either side of them—but there was no sign of any entrance.
“Let’s open the sarcophagus,” Cade said, struggling for ideas. “See what’s inside. Sometimes they had more of them, like a Russian doll. If one of them is made of solid gold or something…”
There was a wet thudding sound. Then another, and another. Cade turned in its direction, his heart in his mouth. An object tumbled down the steps, rolling to stop at their feet as legionaries scattered out of the way.
Amber choked with horror as a tongue lolled and vacant, half-closed eyes stared up at them. It was a head. The head of their lost legionary.
“How kind of you to trap yourselves for us,” called a voice from above.
It spoke in heavily accented English, but Cade knew who it was. The slavers.
Already, the legionaries were rushing to form a wall, but there was no thunder of enemies charging down the stairs. The voice was distant, coming from the very top of the stairs.
“Your friend there was very forthcoming when we caught up to him,” the voice went on, echoing eerily in the vast space. “Why, he even told us what language you contenders speak. I am speaking with Cade, am I not?”
There were no lights in the darkness, but Cade could hear the scraping of metal as armored men moved above.
“You have no chance,” the voice went on. “We have the high ground. No deals. Surrender, or die.”
“Move the sarcophagus,” Cade hissed.
Quintus caught his meaning and whispered instructions to the men. Within seconds, a score of hands began to heave on the heavy wooden lid, scraping it back inch by slow inch.
“So kind of you to prepare your coffin for us,” the voice laughed. “But you presume too much. We will take you from here in chains.”
Still the coffin lid scraped, and Cade edged closer, letting his eyes stray casually over its contents. But it looked empty.
“Surrender, and live,” the voice called, now tinged with impatience. “You won the tournament once. Perhaps you can win again.”
“Fight, you coward!” a legionary shouted, his Latin words shrill in the emptiness of the tomb.
A thin laugh echoed back.
The coffin lid crashed to the ground, the sound reverberating around them. Amber nudged Cade.
“We need to get in the coffin,” she whispered.
“Are you nuts?” Cade muttered back. “We’ll be penned in.”
“Trust me,” she whispered. “Give the order.”
Every instinct in Cade’s mind told him they had to fight. To run up the stairs opposite the way they had come, to take the high ground back and fight. Instead, he pointed into the darkness above and spoke.
“Scan them, Codex!”
The drone shot into the gloom, and Cade roared for his men to follow him. He caught a glimpse of flashing blue, saw dark figures rushing down the steps.
He vaulted over the coffin’s rim, only to feel a rush of horror as his feet met nothing. He fell, but only for a second before he crashed into a heap. Armored men fell around him, torches pinwheeling as they were knocked askew.
A stairway lay in front of him, carved into the very rock itself. The coffin had not been empty after all.
“Action prohibited. Individuals are not remnants. They do not originate from Earth,” the Codex intoned, descending from the opening above.
Cade staggered to his feet, backing away as more legionaries scrambled down the steps, pushing into the antechamber he had fallen into, massing at the stairs’ bottom.
Already, Quintus was shoving men into line. Atticus stood behind them, his torch held aloft, as they stared into the gloom above.
They could hear the rush of feet and the echoing battle cries of men coming to kill. Cade, still dazed, pulled his blade free, looking in dizzy confusion at the room they were defending.
It was no bigger than a tennis court, with another coffin at its center. This one was far smaller, but Cade’s eyes were drawn elsewhere. Rather, he was staring at the crumpled figures scattered about the room. Four of them, wearing dark clothing, in stark contrast to the yellow-white skulls atop their bodies.
And then he saw it. A pistol. It was holstered at the nearest body’s hip. And beside it, tucked into a tight pocket loop … was a grenade.
Cade did not hesitate. He stumbled to the corpse’s side and yanked both free, turning as the first slavers vaulted down the steps.
He lifted the gun, pulled the trigger, and cursed as it did not fire. More men filled the stairway with axes lifted, preparing to charge.
Cade yanked the pin from the grenade and hurled it over the legionaries’ heads. It was a poor throw, one that bounced off the wall before disappearing behind the advancing men.
One second passed.
Two seconds.
Boom.
CHAPTER
47
Dust billowed in the wake of the thunderclap, pulverized rock pelting Cade’s face before the cloud of white blinded him.
Rocks rumbled, and men screamed in agony, fear, and shock. There was the crash and crack of stone upon stone. Then … silence.
Torches glowed sickly orange in the light, fallen from nerveless fingers and sputtering on the ground. Men groaned, coughing dust from their lungs.
Cade had fallen, though he did not remember doing so, and blood filled his mouth with its metallic taste where his face had hit the floor.
He struggled to his knees, watching dazed figures wander the room, zombielike in their movements. His ears rang, a constant whine and static like a TV with a bad signal.
His hand found his blade, and he crawled to the stairwell, ready to fight the men who would soon follow. But he found only rubble, the stairs hardly visible beneath the mass of rock.
The ceiling had collapsed entirely, and the high walls on either side of the stairs had caved in.
They were safe. For now.
He could hear the screams of dying men, along with barked orders and demands for light and water. The sound was muffled, and Cade knew that behind the barrier of fallen stone, the slavers would be in total darkness.
Now Cade and his group were trapped down here. With little air and a small army baying for their blood outside.
“What the hell was that?” groaned Scott, staggering to his feet.
His voice was tinny in Cade’s shellshocked ears, but he had time now t
o see most of the Roman soldiers had survived the explosion with just a few bruises, though a couple were limping or nursing broken arms.
“A grenade,” Cade replied, the question finally filtering through his addled mind.
He spotted Amber and Quintus huddled against a wall, pawing at their eyes where dust had gritted them closed.
“Hold still,” he said as he unstopped his flask, letting water trickle onto their faces, careful to not waste it. Who knew how long they would be down here?
Even if they did find treasure, or the slavers gave up their chase, they might spend days digging their way out.
And of course, that didn’t account for the journey back. So much to think about. But one problem at a time.
“Are you guys okay?” Cade asked as Amber looked up at him through red-rimmed eyes.
“We’re okay,” she whispered. “Quintus?”
The boy pointed at his ears, shaking his head. Then nodded regardless after patting himself down.
Cade stood, pushing through the groups of legionaries huddled around the three torches that had survived the explosion. He crouched beside one of the corpses, hoping for more modern weapons. Enough to turn the tide in the next round.
But to Cade’s disappointment, he found no further weapons on the body, only empty holsters and straps. He found nothing on the others either. Only the pistol, which he scooped up from where he had dropped it in the corner.
The bodies had clearly been there for a long time, if the state of their decomposition was anything to go on. In the dry, sheltered environment there was still skin and hair hanging from the yellowed skulls, and sinew keeping them attached to the heads.
Strangest of all though was their clothing. The men were wearing wet suits, and fins on their feet. Like they had been scuba diving, only without the tanks.
“Is that it, Abaddon?” he muttered. “Stripped them of their weapons, left us with hardly anything?”
“Seems like it,” Amber said, crouching beside him.
There was no other response, but the Codex floated close by. As if it wanted him to ask it something.
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