Broken Crossroads (Knights of the Shadows Book 1)

by LeClerc, Patrick

  “You're learning,” she beamed. “I knew you had it in you.”

  They looked about and found themselves on the level of the great hall, behind the altar. A high, arched door lead through to one side of the great idol. This was probably a passageway for the use of the priest, they reasoned. The corridor ran in both directions. To the left it opened into a spacious chamber, to the right it turned a corner.

  They proceeded cautiously toward the archway to the left. It opened into a vast chamber, its size swallowing the light from Trilisean's lamp. They could see the dim outlines of broad columns rising toward the unseen ceiling, fantastic carvings breaking the symmetry of their surfaces. The floor was unadorned polished stone, smoothed in patterns by centuries of footsteps. They followed the faint depressions to a low shape, well into the room. Trilisean scanned ahead and low, Conn scanning to the sides and above for any sign of danger. The slamming of the doors didn't seem to have alerted anyone. Aside from the traps, they had encountered no threats so far. This only deepened their concern, as something had struck terror in the heart of the last burglar here. Soon the low shape began to resolve itself in the dim lamplight. It was a stone table just a bit longer than the height of a man, set beside a low ring of stones surrounding a pit in the floor.

  As they moved closer, the details became more disturbing. Both the table and ring were carved with writhing serpentine shapes, the most dynamic and violent of all those they had seen so far. The table's top was fitted with rings of thick bronze at the corners, the frayed remains of long- rotted rope still twisted through them. A groove was cut around the edge of the surface, and led to a hollowed depression in the end near the pit. In some deep part of his heart Conn could see the victim strapped to the table and hear the screams echo in the vast chamber as bronze daggers rose and fell in time to the chanting of hooded figures. He shuddered and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

  Trilisean looked down the central well, searched the rim for traps, then, with her lamp and a small mirror, looked within.

  The area beneath was large. Not a shaft but a cavernous chamber, the floor on which they stood supported by more of the ubiquitous serpent-carved columns. Directly below the hole was a pedestal upon which a large crystal of deep amethyst rested in a stand of gold, its three arms forged in the shape of rearing serpents. The thin beam of reflected light struck the crystal and refracted, shedding a ghostly purple radiance on the area around the pedestal.

  There, limned in violet, was a heap of broken bones, empty ribcages and hollow eyes covered with slowly writhing snakes. One serpent of particularly thick body coiled around the gem itself.

  “Gonna be a bugger getting that out,” muttered Conn.

  Trilisean did not reply. The warrior noted that her breathing grew more rapid, hissing through her teeth, which were bared in a wicked grin. Her dark eyes sparkled at the challenge.

  The thief dropped her pack, pulling out her tool kit and unrolling it on the floor. She fought down her excitement, tried to calm the quickening of her pulse and concentrate on the task. This is what she was meant to do. No more two farthing pickpocketing. No more haggling with a fat fence over poorly made jewelry pilfered from the blind sheep that passed for gentry in Laimrig. This was a masterpiece. A crystal the size of her fist guarded by cunning traps and deadly poisonous serpents nesting on a heap of bones. She felt a delicious thrill shiver through her body.

  Conn took a look at her and knew that she was going to go for the crystal, regardless of the king's ransom in treasure already in her pack. That fact was evident in every line of her body, in the way she carried herself and the new bounce in her movements as she assembled the tools she felt she needed. That and the look in her eye. He thought back, wondering when the last time was a woman had looked at him the same way this one looked at a pit full of bones and vipers.

  “What's your plan?” he asked.

  “I'm going to climb down on this rope, using the near column, and then check the gem for traps. It probably is rigged somehow, given all that the former occupants have done to guard it. I'll disable the trap, then climb back up.”

  “Ah. Here I thought it was going to be difficult. What about the snakes?”

  She grinned, held up a waxy sphere. “Always be prepared. This is a bit of sleeping powder from my apothecary friend, rolled in a ball and sealed in beeswax. On impact, it will burst and cover a small area. Anyone who breathes it should be knocked out.”

  “And it works on snakes just as well as it does on men?”

  “We'll know in a few minutes.”

  She looked down the hole, measured out a length of thin silk rope in her hands. Then she tied it off to one of the bronze rings on the sacrificial table. Conn, with the inherent superstitions of an Aeransman, felt that there was something wrong about that, but saw nothing better to use as an anchor.

  Trilisean slipped over the ring of stones, taking her weight on the rope and bracing her feet on the column, her soft soled boots finding purchase on the carved scaly coils that wound around it. Conn took the slack of the rope, winding it behind him and leaning back to take her weight, letting out slack as the thief descended.

  Trilisean made her way down slowly, testing each foothold before trusting her weight to it. At about ten feet up from her goal, she took a sphere from her pouch, took a moment to aim then dropped it. The orb struck the edge of the pedestal and burst into a cloud of white. For a moment, the faint hissing below swelled in intensity, then faded as the powder settled. She paused and waited, watching as the writhing forms stilled.

  Not knowing how long the drug would work on snakes, she rapidly scaled the rest of the way down, then hung for a moment, closely examining the jewel and its base. The orb was a flawless crystal of deep violet. The base was gold, formed in the shape of three serpents, their tails entwined, the gem resting between the three raised heads.

  She reached toward the jewel, her breathing tight with anticipation, then paused. If it were so well guarded, wouldn't it be trapped?

  She looked carefully at the spot where the golden snakes joined. Was it one piece, or could they be three, cunningly fitted? She smiled and dug in her pouch. She took a notched ring of steel and delicately slid it between the rearing necks of the jewel's base. She pressed it gently into place, letting the notches grip the soft gold.

  Trilisean flexed her long fingers, mentally weighing the gem. As she considered it, the snake on the pedestal twitched, its coils loosening.

  She cursed. The time for caution was past, now it was time to act. Hoping that she had taken precautions enough, she grasped the orb lightly but firmly and lifted.

  As the jewel came free, she felt the golden snake heads start to snap closed, but the ring of steel caught them. She placed the gem in her pouch, noting the sharp points on the back of the snake heads.

  She lightly scrambled up the column. As she climbed, she heard the hissing grow louder behind her. She pulled herself over the lip of stone and looked down to see shadowy forms slithering sluggishly over the pedestal.

  “Well,” she said, “I guess now we know how long it works on snakes.”

  “Did you get the jewel?”

  She grinned broadly and reached into her pouch, producing the orb with a flourish.

  “Right,” said Conn. “Now we'd best be making our way out of here.”

  As he spoke, the cold copper lanterns on the walls began to gutter and flare into life, one by one.

  “I agree,” said Trilisean. “Now does seem a good time for a departure.”

  * * *

  Deep in the bowels of the temple, a mind awoke from a long and restless slumber. Awareness slowly spread.

  The creature rose from its cold bed, moving lethargically on leaden limbs and guided by a sluggish mind. Something was wrong. As cold and slow as its thoughts were, of that it was sure. It walked to a cupboard and opened the gold inlaid doors of beaten copper. Numb fingers closed on a vial of carved crystal, breaking the wax seal around the stopper
. Calling up an incantation from the foggy depths of its consciousness, it drank the contents.

  The Avatar of Hrisst felt the hot breath of the Great One fill his lungs and spread like fire through his veins, all lethargy and weariness falling from him. He exulted in the burning kiss of his deity, letting the fire spread over him for a moment before concentrating on what he must do.

  The Avatar seated himself on a sacred circle traced in gold and copper on the marble floor. He opened his mind, now agile, to take in the whole of the temple, extending his awareness throughout the edifice.

  The doors had been breached and traps had been sprung. That was expected. The defenses were reset without his needing to fully awaken. There was no great threat from small interlopers, no need to disturb the rest of the Great One. But then, as he let his awareness run to the depths of the Holy place, he stopped, shocked.

  The Eye! The Eye was stolen! Holiest of all the relics of Hrisst, in the hands of unbelievers. For a moment, the audacity of the crime held the Avatar paralyzed. How was such a violation possible?

  He steadied himself, casting his awareness out to the Eye. Contact came swiftly. The relic must still be in the temple. He allowed himself to feel relief and gave thanks to the Great One, both that the relic was close and for the honor to be the one to retrieve it. He concentrated on the orb, let his mind see through it as he had trained for so long ago.

  An image came to him of two figures slinking through the darkened temple. He almost laughed in relief as he saw what they were. Two of the soft, frail creatures. The prey creatures. The slave race. The race suitable only for sacrifice and unskilled labor.

  He smiled. They could not know the power with which they meddled. Their small minds were simply dazzled by the shiny orb. He stood and breathed deep. For this he would assume the simplest, but most fearsome aspect of Hrisst, at least to the weak, diminished apes he would face.

  He chanted, channeling the power entrusted to him by his god. The form of the Avatar expanded, his muscles swelling, his jaw lengthening to a fearsome maw. He strode to a cabinet and took down an ornate set of armor, breastplate, greaves and helmet of steel, inlaid with gold. He then fastened a curved sword to his waist on a chain of brass links and took down a heavy axe from it pegs, then settled a great steel shield on his arm. He stalked out of the chamber, intent on recovering the relic and meting out punishment to the worms who dared sully this holy ground.

  * * *

  Conn and Trilisean moved quickly out the way they had come, but not so rapidly as to let down their guard. The many seemingly dead torchiers were all alight now, sending shadows playing along the carven reliefs and striking highlights from the inset metals and gems. Removing the great jewel had set something in motion, and they balanced their desire to be away from that something with their wariness not to be caught running blindly from it.

  They reached the spot where the door had closed on them. Trilisean explored the wall with eyes and fingertips for a moment then swore.

  “I can't find anything.”

  “Maybe there’s no way to open it from here,” Conn said.

  “Maybe not,” she said. “But that's the way we know. Anything else is guesswork.”

  “Better to guess and move than stand and be caught,” said the mercenary. “Come on!” He started toward the great hall. “There has to be a way for worshipers to get in, so there has to be a way out,” he reasoned.

  “That seems likely,” she agreed, her eyes flicking about for signs of danger.

  They stopped before the entrance to the great hall, peering around the doorway. It appeared empty, a huge brazier on the dais before the idol sending shadows dancing through the vast space. They looked through the benches and the forest of irregularly placed, serpentine columns, seeking an exit.

  “There,” the thief breathed. “The back wall, to the left. In the deeper shadow. There's a stairway there, leading up.”

  The warrior nodded. He saw no such staircase, but her word was good enough for him. The woman could count the change in a man's purse at fifty yards in a dark alley. As far as whether it was the exit, it led up, and up was good. They had to find a way back to the surface.

  Trilisean glided around the doorframe, paused for a moment in the shadow of the great serpent god to listen and wait, then moved silently onwards, keeping to the edge of the hall. Conn followed a few paces behind, stopping when she did, his ears and eyes straining for any threat.

  They had covered perhaps three lengths out of five to the staircase when the pair froze. A clinking of metal on metal sounded from an arched doorway on the opposite wall. The thief crouched behind a bench and the warrior flattened himself behind a massive column.

  Conn listened as the sounds of a man walking in armor sounded in the hall. Trilisean quietly pulled a mirror from her pouch and used it to peer around the bench. What she saw made her eyes widen. Conn stole a glance around the column.

  A huge creature stalked directly toward them. It was man shaped, mostly, but covered in scales where its skin could be seen. It wore a breastplate over a mail shirt and an ornate helmet. Its head was reptilian, jaws extending forward in a frightening parody of a smile. Its unblinking eyes burned with an amber light. It bore a steel shield on its left arm, and a heavy axe in its clawed right hand. The armor was elaborately decorated, the steel breastplate inlaid with a fiery dragon in copper. The helm was fashioned with a dragon atop it, its wings folded down to protect the sides of the beast's head. The thing walked toward the hiding pair, obviously aware of their location.

  Conn flexed his fingers and wrist, then quietly slid his sword from its scabbard. He grasped his targe in his left hand, readying himself for the fight. There was little point running if the thing knew they were there, less if it knew the layout of the temple.

  Trilisean looked at Conn and nodded, reaching the same conclusion. She dropped a sphere into the cup of her sling.

  The warrior spun out from his hiding place, his shield before him, sword at the ready and shouted. “Come on, you reptile! Let's see what color your blood is!”

  The creature sprang forward, landing lightly on a pew, brandishing its axe. It moved far more fluidly and deftly than Conn had expected in so large an opponent. It stood head and shoulders taller than he. It also put itself in a beautiful position to have a leg hacked out from under it.

  A missile sped from the shadows and exploded into a white cloud against the thing's head. Conn darted forward, hoping to land a blow while it was distracted, but it leapt back off the bench and shook its head before darting around the cloud to swing its massive weapon at the Aeransman's head.

  Conn pulled up and deflected the blow with his shield. He felt the impact from his shoulder to his stinging fingers. Nuad help him if he caught a blow on his body. Heavy as that axe was, it would shatter bones even through armor.

  Joke’s on him, thought Conn. I'm not wearing armor.

  The mercenary took a step back, waiting for his opponent to move. As fast as the creature was, the weight of that axe would make him vulnerable to a quick counter. Assuming it didn't kill him with its initial stroke.

  Conn circled way from the door, drawing the things attention. It leapt after him, pursuing single-mindedly. A flash from the shadows indicated a thrown dagger, but the beast seemed to sense the move before it was made, and casually batted the weapon aside.

  How did it do that? He wondered. No way it could have seen that. The beast must have a way to detect its enemies. While that was not a pleasant thought, it was a useful one. No point in the thief hanging around to strike from hiding if the thing couldn't be surprised.

  “Get out!” Conn shouted. “I need you to clear the doors of traps and locks. I'll deal with this great oaf and be right behind you.”

  Trilisean hesitated, a second dagger poised.

  “Do it!”

  She turned and sped away.

  Now, he thought, sizing up his massive foe, we'll see if I learned anything in all these years.
r />   * * *

  The Avatar of Hrisst kept his gaze on the one before him. The other one, the one with the Eye, had run off. Good. He kept a tiny fragment of his awareness on the Sacred Orb. He could track that one down after he destroyed the first. If nothing else, the naked ape was brave, trying to buy time for its accomplice. The Avatar smiled. The blood of heroes tasted so much better than that of cowards.

  He sprang forward, whipping his axe at the head of the being so arrogant as to disturb the rest of Hrisst's incarnation on this plane.

  * * *

  Damn, that thing moves fast! Flashed through Conn's mind as he dodged the blow. The strength it took to move such a heavy weapon so quickly was frightening. He observed the second cut, parrying it at an angle with his shield as he backed away.

  The follow up cut was faster than it had any right to be, but still slow by the standards of a trained duelist. And the thing kept advancing, hacking back and forth like a mad woodcutter. He could use that.

  Conn anticipated the next cut. For all that they were fast, they were predictable. He took a half step back, then thrust in behind the blow, his point tearing into the thing's right arm.

  The warrior felt as though he'd stabbed a mighty oak. The creature's hide was tough. Instead of sinking deep into muscle and sinew, the sword gouged a shallow cut from wrist to elbow.

  Worse even than that, flames spouted from the wound in place of blood. Liquid fire – like oil from a shattered lantern – ran from the cut. A few drops struck the mercenary's sleeve and he swore, beating the flames out against his leather jerkin.

  In so doing, he nearly missed the next blow, blocking at too flat an angle. A piece of the shield was shorn off, a sizeable splinter striking him in the forehead.

  Blinking the stars from his eyes, Conn circled, keeping away from the great smashing strokes of the axe. He got himself between the exit and his foe, and began to back away but without much real hope. He couldn't retreat forever. He'd trip or come up against a wall or a column or closed door or just tire out.