Phoenix exchanged an admiring glance with Brynn. That was a much better story than ‘prisoners escaping’. There was a long silence and then the light brightened. The door must have opened wider. A different voice spoke.
“Come in and wait for our master. He is performing the Ceremony of Lost Souls. When he is finished, I will fetch him and you may tell him yourselves.”
Phoenix grimaced, realising they would now have to deal with at least one other person besides the High Priest. Footsteps sounded and the light began to dim again as the door closed behind Marcus and Heron. Phoenix felt a moment of panic. If the door locked, they wouldn’t be able to help. As if reading his thoughts, Brynn darted from Phoenix’s side and slid the blade of his curved dagger alongside the door frame, stopping the latch from falling as the door thudded closed.
Phoenix let out a silent sigh of relief and squeezed Brynn’s shoulder as Jade joined them. Together, they eased the door open a fraction and listened.
“I can’t understand why he swallowed that story,” Marcus murmured to Heron. Obviously the priest had left the room. “Let’s find the sword – it’s very plain-looking.”
Jade leaned close and whispered in Phoenix’s ear. “I used a believe Command spell on the guy who opened the door. I think the Command spell works best if these priests don’t know it’s coming.”
He gave her a thumbs-up. “Sweet. Let’s help them look.”
Together they slipped into the room and spread out to search. Marcus frowned at them, perhaps concerned that they’d diverged from the original plan. Brynn stayed by the door, watching the stairs and signalling them all to hurry up.
Even Phoenix had trouble keeping his mind on what they were looking for. The High Priest’s study was a fascinating, horrifying place. The stone walls were darkened with soot from torches and fires. A chandelier, made from bone and skulls, hung from the high ceiling. Skeletons of birds seemed to fly through the air around it, hanging by thin wires. On every surface lay evidence that the owner of this room practiced a sinister and unpleasant form of magic: skulls, bones, weapons of grisly design, instruments of torture, books bound with what looked like blackened human skin; scrolls of the same material, a small statue of Set with glittering black eyes that seemed to watch their every move.
He looked across at Jade. She had her head tilted and eyes narrowed, which meant she was looking for magical auras.
“See Blódbál’s aura?”
She shook her head. “I can’t pick it out. Practically everything’s magical here!” She whispered. When he reached out to pick up a small dagger, she gripped his wrist with astonishing strength. “Don’t touch anything. The auras are a really nasty blood-purple, which means they’re dark magic. Brynn,” she raised her voice as the boy edged back into the room, apparently fascinated by the array of small, portable objects within reach, “you do not want to take anything in here, believe me.” Shuddering, she picked up a black cloth and threw it over the statue of Set that lurked on the black desk.
“You found it!” Phoenix reached past her and snatched up his sword, cradling it to his chest before strapping the belt around his hips. It had been beneath the cloth.
She let out a soft sigh. “Thank heavens. Let’s get out of here.”
“There’s your dagger, too,” Marcus indicated the ruby-studded life-dagger. Phoenix snatched it up, shoved it back into its sheath and strapped it to his hip. Next he grabbed Heron’s arm and headed toward the door.
“Let’s go before the priest comes back! Ow!” He collided with Brynn as the boy backed into the room. “Brynn, we need to go out, not in,” he grumbled, shoving at him.
Brynn pushed back, shaking his head. “Sounds like there’re a dozen guards coming up the stairs. We need to find another way out.”
As one, the five companions looked at the only other door. The priest had gone through it to get the High Priest. Who knew what lay beyond its scorched wood? The priest had said his master was performing the Ceremony of Lost Souls. Phoenix wondered briefly if it was to find lost souls or to make them lost.
Marcus tried the handle. It was locked. Brynn shut and locked the main door as the sound of marching feet got louder. He scooted over to Marcus and drew out two thin pieces of metal from somewhere in his clothing. With them, he probed inside the heavy iron lock.
Phoenix pursed his lips and glared at Brynn. “Did you have those things on you the whole time in that cell? Did I go through that routine of taking out the guard for nothing?”
The boy sent him a quirky half-grin. “I like a bit of fun but I’m not stupid. They took them off me in the pyramid. I just found them again in here. Got my dagger, sword and sling back, too.” He patted his weapons with satisfaction.
Phoenix continued to eye him suspiciously, wondering if he’d taken anything else, in spite of Jade’s warning. The boy gave him an innocent, wide-eyed look he didn’t believe for an instant then went back to working on the lock. Jade wrapped her arms around herself and moved over to look out the window, probably trying to get as far away from the magic items in the room as possible.
He hadn’t really thought of the window was a possible escape route but it was fairly wide and let in a fresh breeze from off the nearby river. Phoenix joined her and peered out. It was not as high as he’d expected. In fact, it was only a short drop onto what looked like the back roof of the temple.
“It’s no good,” Brynn tucked his tools away. “I picked the lock but there’s a bar on the other side I can’t lift. We have to find another way and fast.” As if to emphasise his point, there was a loud thumping knock on the main entrance. Distant, hurrying footsteps now sounded behind the door Brynn had been working on.
“Oh my,” Heron murmured, wringing his gnarled hands. “I think the priest is coming back.”
“You don’t say,” Phoenix muttered.
“I think we can get out the window, if anyone’s got some rope,” Jade called.
Another knock sounded on the door; followed by a guard’s annoyed question.
Everyone looked around but there was no convenient coil of rope.
Phoenix glanced at Marcus, who gave him an ironic smile and half-shake of his head. “Not this time. I haven’t had the opportunity to replace the one you used on the troll.”
Jade snatched at the black cloth she had used to cover the statue of Set.
“We’ll have to use this,” she tore it into strips, knotted them together then knotted a corner of it around the thick leg of a table standing beside the window. “Barricade the priest’s door and let’s go. Quickly!”
Phoenix shoved a chest over to the door and wedged it beneath the handle. The sound of regular pounding and shouting now began from the main door. The guards were trying to break it down. From behind the other door came a scrabbling and grunting as the priest tried to push it inward.
He pushed back, hoping to buy time for the others. Heron had already vanished out the window. Jade supervised as first Brynn then Marcus clambered nimbly down the cloth to land beside Heron on the rooftop below.
The chest beneath him jerked again as someone pushed hard against the door. Jade’s head disappeared below the window ledge. One of the panels of wood in the main door exploded in a spray of splinters and a hand reached through, feeling for the lock. Definitely time to go.
As Phoenix jumped for the window, several things seemed to happen all at once. The entry door flew open and half a dozen black-robed guards burst in. The heavy chest was shoved aside as the other door opened and two priests strode in. One wore a golden mask. Phoenix swore and backed toward the window, sword ready. Would Blódbál be enough to protect him against this priest’s magic and the weapons of six trained guards? Even as he wondered, a dozen more guards pressed into the room, weapons drawn.
With a cry of anger, three leapt at him, curved swords flashing in the torchlight. Pinned against the window and table, he parried their blows with Blódbál and yanked his dagger from its sheath. Luckily, the space was so cr
amped that only a few could attack at once. Wishing for his shield, he turned aside a blade aimed at his throat and pushed back against the three swords locked against his, over his head.
Fear fled before a rush of adrenalin. Phoenix growled low in his throat and grinned in savage delight. Once again he felt a surge of strength and power as Blódbál began to take over his actions, turning his body into a perfect fighting machine.
Somehow, it became easy to foresee each blow before it fell; avoid each hazard in the cluttered room; twist aside from each slicing strike of those lethal blades. Metal clashed with metal; a guard grunted in pain as Phoenix’s dagger found his ribs. Over and over Blódbál flicked out, parried and darted in to taste the blood of the enemy. Guards began to trip over bodies of their comrades as well as the many books and objects strewn about the room. Phoenix kicked a book into one man’s face, causing him to trip backward over a small, steaming cauldron. The black, viscous liquid in the cauldron hissed and ate its way through a stack of books, sending off toxic fumes and clouding the air with choking grey smoke. Taking advantage of the confusion, he overturned a heavy table, pinning two men against a wall. There were still too many.
Leaping onto a low stool, Phoenix tucked his dagger into his belt and snatched up a slim black-handled blade that lay on a shelf. Gauging the distance, he flipped it over and threw it at the High Priest, who stood impassively just inside the second door. The gold-masked man didn’t move or flinch. He didn’t even raise a hand as a red-masked priest deliberately stepped in front of the oncoming blade. It sank up to the hilt in his chest instead of his masters’ and he slumped to the ground without a sound.
Phoenix didn’t waste time on his failed attempt. He jumped down from the stool, kicked it up into one guard’s face and pulled his dagger out again just in time to deflect a blow aimed at his neck. A second sliced at his stomach. He twisted aside, feeling the tip catch and tear the loose cloth of his shirt. That was too close. More guards were arriving. It was only a matter of time before sheer numbers overwhelmed him, even with Blódbál’s help. He had to get out.
Panting, he found himself back against the window. There was a pause as the guards stopped fighting and looked toward their High Priest for guidance. Now was the time to escape.
The black-robed guards withdrew a little, leaving a space littered with bodies and slippery with blood. Phoenix felt a rush of triumph at the sight. He had done that. With Blódbál he was practically invincible. The irresistible pulse of its battle-song filled his mind, whispering, encouraging, and willing him to fight on; kill more; spill more blood. It was hard to think of anything else. The desire to fight, kill and destroy the enemy was almost overwhelming.
Then the High Priest raised his hands and pointed at the dead warriors. A shaft of purple-blue speared from his fingertips, earthing in each inanimate form. His dark eyes glittered with satisfaction behind that smooth, golden mask. The image of those limp bodies twitching as the priest’s dark magic hit them was enough to shock the power of Blódbál out of Phoenix’s mind. All desire to cross swords with zombie-guards vanished. Jerkily, the dead men stood up, their faces now blank, eyes milky-white. As one, they stepped toward Phoenix, swords raised again. Behind them, the living guards grinned.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sheathing his dagger, Phoenix picked up a lit candle and threw it into the largest pile of papers he could see. The flames caught and raced across the surface like it was soaked in petrol. Each flicker danced with purple-blue after-images. The black smoke it gave off reeked and stung the eyes. That got a reaction. With an angry shriek, the Priest of Set snatched at his precious artefacts and papers.
Phoenix smiled as the gold-masked sorcerer began ordering his henchmen to put out the rapidly-spreading fire. That should keep them busy enough not to chase him. He sheathed his sword, silencing its song. Clambering up onto the windowsill, he balanced on it and tried to watch the entire room at once. With a grin, he threw the coughing guards a mocking salute. Before the astonished rabble could react, he reached down, grabbed the black cloth and leapt out of the window.
He grunted in pain as his shoulder and ribs slammed into the temple wall. That stunt looked great in the movies and games but it hurt. Friction from the cloth burned his fingers and the wall was hard. Tightening his grip, he shook his head to clear the stars and shoved away from the stone.
From overhead came a clattering and angry muttering as the guards pushed to see where he had gone. Smoke billowed out the window. He let the cloth slide through his hands, glancing down to judge the distance to the ground. He didn’t want to fall on anyone’s head. It was a bit worrying to realise that it wasn’t going to be an issue: everyone was gone. All his friends had, apparently, vanished and left him to his fate. Lacking Blódbál’s song of invincibility to ward it off, fear and anger surged almost painfully through his guts.
The cloth jerked in his hands and, with an unpleasant tearing sound, lost all tension. The guards had cut his safety line. As he fell, Phoenix heard a mocking jeer from the window above.
Still clutching the remnant of fabric, he tried to think about how best to hit the roof below. He tucked his chin in, tightened his stomach muscles and spread out his arms and legs, hoping to absorb the worst of the fall and keep his skull intact. He couldn’t afford to lose any more lives. At the last second, he remembered to force all the air out of his lungs.
The fall seemed to take a lot longer than he expected and the stone wall didn’t go past nearly as fast as it should have. In fact, he appeared to be slowing down. It felt as though he was sliding down through a deep, cool pool of water. Cautiously, Phoenix sucked in a breath of night air and twisted his head to see why. The first pink hints of dawn showed him to be in a very strange situation indeed.
He was floating bare inches above the sloping, stone-tiled roof. What the heck had happened to gravity? Was the High Priest somehow trying to pull him back up to the tower? Glancing up, he could see only thick clouds of rancid smoke coming out of the window. OK, not the High Priest then. So how did he get down?
A loud hiss drifted up from the shadows in the street below.
“C’mon, Phoenix!” It was Brynn’s voice. “Jade can’t hold you up forever. Get on your feet and get down here.”
Bewildered, Phoenix wriggled and turned until he could get his feet under himself. There was a sudden feeling of weight as gravity re-asserted its rights and his knees collapsed under the strain. Falling awkwardly, he slithered down the roof toward Brynn’s voice. Stone tiles slipped out from under his hands and feet, crashing onto the street below. Before he could stop himself, momentum carried him right off the gutterless edge of the rooftop and he was, once more, in midair.
Again there came a sensation of floating to earth. This time it only lasted a brief moment. He just managed to be ready for it when mass returned and landed on his feet with only a slight jar through his heels. Grinning, he peered around, looking for Brynn and the others.
Half-hidden in the gloom of the alley were their horses and gear. Marcus, Brynn, Jade and Heron were already mounted, although Jade was slumped in the saddle with her eyes closed. Heron looked more than a little ridiculous mounted on the small pack-pony. He’d discarded the black priest’s robe and his filthy tunic and toga were rucked up to his thighs, skinny old legs sticking out at a ridiculous angle. Marcus held the horse’s reins.
Hearing cries of alarm from the burning temple, Phoenix swung into the saddle of his stallion, gasping at a sudden stitch that lanced pain through his stomach. He gritted his teeth and nodded to Marcus. The Roman kicked his mount and they all followed, winding through the back streets toward the river, away from immediate danger. Pink fire lit the sky as the sun came up and turned the Nile to liquid gold.
Phoenix caught up with Jade and reached across to touch her arm. “Thanks. What was that spell?”
She sent him a weary smile. “Another new one from Asulfr’s book. It’s called létta, which means ‘stop’. I wasn’t sure
it would do what I wanted it to but it was the only one I could think of at the time. I’m glad it worked.”
“Me too,” he agreed wholeheartedly. “I thought you’d abandoned me for a moment there.”
“You must know by now that I wouldn’t,” she sighed.
Phoenix shrugged.
With a resigned look, Jade shook her head. “I can’t promise I’ll always be perfect, Phoenix. Of course I’ll make mistakes and other bad things will happen to you but,” she reached over and gripped his arm, her green eyes intent, “I’m getting worried about you. Ever since you got Blodbal, you haven’t been yourself.”
“What are you talking about?” he jerked his arm free, irritated. “I’m fine. Blodbal’s the best thing that’s happened to me here. I’m almost invincible with it.”
“But it’s affecting your thinking,” Jade insisted. “You’re much more…I don’t know..impulsive, untrusting…angry, I guess. You have to keep it under control. Remember what Thor said about it taking over if you let it?” She frowned at him. “Don’t let the sword make your reactions stronger than they should be. You can control how much people affect your emotions. You control how much you react.”
Phoenix stared at her for a moment, shocked and a bit annoyed that she had seen so much of how he felt. What right did she have to give him advice on emotions anyway? She acted like an emotional yo-yo half the time. Control how much you react? What a laugh.
Shaking his head impatiently, he pressed a hand to his stomach, still feeling the remnants of pain from the fear and that stitch. He sucked a quick breath through his teeth and tried to ignore the ache. Under his fingers he felt a strange slickness and his own skin, instead of cloth. Puzzled, he looked down at his hand. Bright red blood covered his palm. It pumped sluggishly from a long slice across his belly. Phoenix stared at it, feeling lightheaded. He hadn’t even felt the knife cut him. How strange.
The world spun and seemed to turn upside down before going black.
The Tekhen of Anuket Page 10