“You should tell them what we found,” he shouted, nodding to the main chamber of the tomb. “We don’t know how long we’ll have when it opens.” And if you’re in the main chamber, you won’t be struck silly by the water, he added to himself.
She hesitated, leaned in toward him, and said. “Keep them hidden,” she said, “and guard them well.” Her tone was harsh as she added, “Some of them will have no qualms about taking things from family.”
Giorge nodded and tucked the gems into a pouch he kept under his tunic. Then he waited until she was well away from the entry before he reached up for the eyes. Even after she had disappeared into the shadows, he hesitated before removing them. There was something inside the sarcophagus, and whatever it was, it would be free soon. But what choice did he have? The only way out—and he was certain of it, even though he had no reason to be certain about it—was through the tunnel behind the sarcophagus. No, not behind it, but through it. The sarcophagus was like the trapdoor in the mines: a portal to another place. But to where? And what would be waiting for him when he got there? Eyes of flame?
Giorge looked once more to make sure his mother was far enough away, and then moved to one side of the sarcophagus, away from the lid. He reached out as far as he could, touched the nearest eye, and it popped out into his palm. The water that shot out from behind it nearly burned through his skin as it struck, and he quickly jerked his hand away. Then he ducked down below the streams, hunched low, and moved to the other side of the sarcophagus. When he was in position, he reached up for the other eye. When he felt its smooth round surface in his palm, he jumped backward, almost pinning himself to the slick wall of the alcove.
The lid scraped against the stone as it inched forward, and then it swung toward him on an unseen hinge. Water flooded out in a rush, like the frothy bubbles from a freshly tapped cask, but it subsided quickly. In moments, it had settled to a weak current, then a slow trickle. By the time he squeezed around the lid, his mother was hurrying up the steps through the waterfall as if it wasn’t even there. How is she doing that? he wondered.
He was looking in the sarcophagus when she reached his side, but there was nothing in it. No corpse. No skeleton. No doorway. No tunnel. “Where’s the tunnel?” she demanded. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. There had to be a tunnel. The water couldn’t have come from nowhere! But where was it? He looked down at the Eye in his hand and lifted it up to look through it. The tunnel was clearly there—but the fiery eyes were gone. He stepped forward, into the sarcophagus, and reached out with his hand to touch the back of it—and his hand went through it! It was as if there was nothing there! He turned to his mother and saw her facing the main chamber with her poniard ready and the torch held out defensively in front of her.
Giorge pivoted and drew his short sword in one motion. At the bottom of the stair, a sliver of polished metal slowly wormed its way around the frame of the entryway. It caught and reflected the flickering torchlight, illuminating the tip of a bony finger curled around the hilt of a thin dirk oozing water. The rest of the fingertips eased into view, and they were followed by an almost fleshless forearm. A silver bracelet several sizes too large for the emaciated arm dangled loosely from the parchment-thin skin. A ragged black sleeve with a badly frayed cuff clung to it like strangling moss hanging from a dying branch. The elbow was so thin that it was little more than skin wrapped around a knobby bone, barely covering the bumpy ridges of the cord-like sinews stretching out from the joint in both directions. The shoulder protruding from a large hole in the tattered garment looked much the same, but with moisture glistening on its surface. The bowed head that followed had scraps of long gray hair randomly sticking out from the rind-like skull. The thing paused at the bottom of the stair and an incoherent, high-pitched rattle issued from its shrunken chest.
The old woman lifted her head and looked at him with eyes that burned like embers breathed to angry life, their intensity drowning out the torch’s flame. They held him in place as she climbed over the first step, and shuffled toward the second.
His mother held the torch forward, and the corpse-like hag hissed and turned her fiery gaze toward her. The torch began to shake in his mother’s hand as she braced herself.
Giorge blinked. The old hag’s gaze had transfixed him, and now it held his mother in place. He blinked again as the old crone’s face came into focus. Her cheeks were drawn in so deeply it seemed like there was no skin left. He gulped in a sharp breath as a chill sweat formed at the base of his neck. His short sword shivered and his hand shook as he gripped the Viper’s Eye so tightly that it hurt his knuckles. The witch smiled at his mother. It was a hideous thing to see, a grotesque mockery of a skull-like grin.
The witch disappeared….
A strange, silent pall descended upon him like a suspended thought.
Strips of drenched, tattered rags clung from the emaciated form like a thin veil concealing little of the wrinkled, dry, corpse-like flesh beneath it. Her ribs were prominent, and the stomach had collapsed in upon itself like a pumpkin slowly rotting away. She reached the third step….
A shallow tongue, shaped like a crumpled maple leaf, flickered out as her mouth moved. There was no sound at first, just the movement, and then came a wispy, strangled rattle. As she approached the fourth step, the rattle settled into an ill-formed, unintelligible word that droned on for a few torturous seconds. Her tongue continued to work in her mouth as she climbed the step. She would be in range of the torch’s flame soon, but she seemed unconcerned. Then, quite clearly and sharply, the witch barked, “Fydh!”
Fydh? Giorge wondered. Wasn’t that the archaic form of—
Food!
She clambered toward the next step.
13
Embril shivered as the ice-cold water dripped off her cold, naked body. Her robe waffled in her hands as the brisk wind whipped it about as she flew away from the waterfall, and by the time she landed on the ledge near the cave opening, she was completely dry and chilled through and through. A moment later, she snatched up one of the flame-based strands of magic and spun it into a simple looping knot that she wrapped around herself. She squeezed it gradually tighter, letting the timid heat it released warm her up. When she finished, she turned toward the cave entrance. It was at least a quarter mile away, a safe enough distance to avoid being detected by the hermitog—if that was what Angus had seen. Based on his description, that’s what she thought it was, and she was prepared to face it. But if it was something else.…
Embril edged toward the cave entrance and stopped when she was about a dozen yards from it. She stood still for several seconds, testing to see if the hermitog had noticed her, and then cast Soft Passage. It was a complex spell that combined air, earth, and life magic together. The air magic lightened her step, making her move as lightly as a butterfly flaps its breathy wings, and the earth magic caused her feet to merge with the stone or dirt beneath her feet. The life magic nudged plants out of her way, allowing her to pass through them as if they weren’t there. The overall effect made it seem like she hadn’t even passed through the area, making it very difficult for anyone following her to know where she had gone. But she didn’t cast Soft Passage to conceal her passage from the hermitog; she cast it because it muted her footfalls until they made almost no sound and, more importantly, produced no more vibration than a feather landing in tall grass. Since the hermitog hunted by sensing the vibrations of its prey as it passed by the hermitog’s place of concealment, the spell would make it possible for her to get quite close to the creature without being noticed. If she wasn’t noticed, then she would have the distinct advantage of being able to cast other spells.
When she had Soft Passage wrapped around her and anchored into place, she turned to the second spell. The hermitog had a nearly impenetrable shell. Arrows would bounce off it; swords were useless unless they struck the joints in its arms, legs, or eyestalks; and even maces and flails were only marginally effective—and nearly useless underwater
. But that shell also made it vulnerable, and she knew how to exploit that vulnerability if she could see it. Lamplight—that’s what Angus called it, and she liked his name for it much better than Glow Ball, the name used by Wizard School—would provide her with the light she needed to see the hermitog. She attached it behind her right shoulder and made her way to the cave entrance.
At the entrance she took a deep breath and peeked around the corner. There was nothing unexpected: it was a dimly lit cave. From what Angus had said, the hermitog laired deep in the shadows, shadows that disappeared as she entered the cave with the Lamplight in tow. There was no sign of the hermitog near the entrance, but the cave narrowed near the back and then turned. She moved carefully up to the turn and hesitated. Angus hadn’t gone into the cave himself so he didn’t know much about what it was like inside it. All he had noted was the size of the entrance and an estimation of the cave’s depth. About twenty feet inside, it narrowed, the ceiling lowered, and the rest was lost in shadow. He assumed the cave either burrowed deeper into those shadows or ended. It didn’t end.
Embril crept around the turn and frowned. The ceiling lowered until it was only about a foot above her head, and the walls fluctuated between five and eight feet apart. She almost turned back. The hermitog was nowhere to be seen, and Angus had said it was close to the front of the cave. He had even heard the rocks on its shell rattling as it breathed. She heard nothing. Was the hermitog gone? Had it died? Had it acclimatized to the thin air? It had been a long winter, and a lot could happen in four months….
Embril shook her head. She couldn’t turn back; her plans for getting across the plateau required the use of the cave, and if the hermitog was still inside the cave—no matter how deeply—it would attack at some point. She had to deal with it first. She followed the tunnel for about fifteen feet before it opened into a large cavern, one that could easily hold all of the men and horses. She frowned. Why hadn’t Giorge mentioned this cavern to Angus? It was too large for him not to have noticed—unless the hermitog had concealed its presence. But that would mean the hermitog was much larger than she expected—or something else entirely.
Embril stepped into the cavern and studied the ragged walls, the uneven floor, and the rough ceiling. There were no hermitogs hiding in the cavern, and the only other way out that she could see was a small tunnel half-hidden behind an outcropping. It had a low ceiling, and she would have to slouch down if she followed it, but she didn’t like that idea; the confined space would make it more difficult to cast the spell. At least it was wide enough for her to maneuver a little bit, and what she could see of it was fairly straight and empty. There was something at the end of it that her Lamplight spell couldn’t illuminate. It could just be a natural formation of rocks, but there seemed to be something underneath those rocks. Unfortunately, for the spell to work, she had to get close enough to see the hermitog clearly. If it was the hermitog.
She edged into the tunnel and moved slowly forward until a sudden sense of dread collapsed in upon her. It was a strange sensation, and she paused long enough to paw at the ground with her right foot before shaking it off. Even if it was the hermitog, she didn’t have anything to worry about. She could move much more quickly than it could—but not while she was slouching in the tunnel. She paused again, her heart pounding in her chest, and half-turned to go back—
Still the mind, she thought with a sense of urgency. Still the body.
She took a deep, calming breath and turned toward the hermitog. It was the hermitog, and it hadn’t noticed her yet. There was no need for her anxiety. Still the mind. Still the body. She stood still until she felt the effects of the mantra taking hold, and then moved cautiously closer to the back of the tunnel. She was still at least twenty feet away from the hermitog when she stopped and knelt on the floor of the tunnel so she could straighten her back to cast the spell. It didn’t seem to be aware of her presence; it wasn’t even moving as it breathed. Was it asleep? Hibernating? Dead? Could she take the chance?
She studied the magic of the creature, sorting through the different strands for the water-based ones. There weren’t as many as she had expected; the hermitog was a sea creature, and there should have been a lot more of them. One thing was certain, though: it wasn’t dead because there wasn’t any death magic emanating from it at all. There was something wrong with it, though, but that didn’t matter; it would be dead soon enough.
She drew the creature’s water magic toward her and carefully secured each strand around the fingers of her left hand, ignoring the pain when she bumped against her injured fingertips. Then she drew a flame strand to her and interlaced it through all of the strands. She anchored the flame strand to her right thumb, bending it at the joint to hold the strand in place, and reached for another strand of flame. After she had secured three more strands, she decided she had enough of them and let go of the water magic. It fled back to the hermitog. The flame magic, still anchored to her thumb, went with it as far as it could as she took hold of the flame strands with her left hand. She released her anchor and gripped the strands of flame with her right hand. Then she gradually fed the flame magic some slack, letting the water magic of the creature drag it closer and closer to the hermitog.
It was a time-consuming spell, and she had to maintain eye-contact with the hermitog while she manipulated it. One slip in her concentration, and the magic would escape. If the hermitog moved….
She wouldn’t see the effects of her spell until the end, but when she saw the creature’s water magic tow the strands of flame into its shell she knew what was happening. The heat from the flame magic would gradually raise the temperature of the water inside the hermitog’s body, and the creature wouldn’t even know what was happening to it until it was too late.
Minutes went by. The hermitog didn’t move. The spell continued its magic. Then, quite suddenly, the shell exploded with such force that it sent the rocks secured to its back scattering.
Embril released her hold on the magic and let her hands fall to her lap. She sighed, and despite the mantra a spark of sadness threatened to weaken her resolve. The hateful deed is done, she thought, standing up and slouching to avoid the ceiling. She turned and walked calmly back to the cavern. When she reached it, she straightened and sighed. She made her way to the tunnel leading outside and paused at its entrance long enough to attach the Lamplight to the wall beside it, where it illuminated most of the cavern and tunnel.
I wish it had already been dead, she thought as she went somberly back to the cave entrance and sat down in the sunlight to wait for Lieutenant Jarhad and his men to arrive. She closed her eyes, and for the first time since becoming a horse, she fell into a deep, restful sleep, one whose dreams were flat landscapes sculpted from shades of gray tinged with blue, green, and yellow. Fortunately, it was a windless day, and nothing jumped out of that landscape to try to eat her.
14
The Viper’s Eye felt hard in Giorge’s hand, and it took only a moment for him to make the decision. He brought it up against his eye and looked into the sarcophagus again. The tunnel had changed. It was radiant, wavering, as the magic around it fluctuated. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but it didn’t matter: the witch only had one more step left before she reached his mother, and he wouldn’t—couldn’t—lose her again.
He sheathed his sword and grabbed the torch from his mother. He threw it at the witch, who staggered from the impact and waved off the flame as if it was a soft breeze. It only delayed the hag a moment, but it was enough. He had his mother’s arm in a firm grip and pushed her into the sarcophagus ahead of him as the torch sputtered out in the water. She squealed as he shoved her into the wall but quickly fell silent as she passed through it without resistance. It was pitch black, as if they were encased in stone, and he reached out for the side of the tunnel as he urged his mother forward. She adjusted to the situation and stepped rapidly forward a few paces. “This way,” she said, reaching back for his hand. “There’s a side tunnel.”
&
nbsp; Instead of following her, he gripped her hand more tightly and pulled her back. “No,” he said. “That isn’t the way out.”
“But—”
“No!” he hissed, holding the Eye up so he could look through it. The magic was writhing now, like a willow branch caught in a strong wind, and his instincts told him it was bad. “This way,” he said as he clung to her hand and moved past her. “Quickly!” he hissed as he broke into a jog. The whirling was disorienting, as if the magic didn’t know which way to go and was trying to go everywhere at once. The more powerful the strand, the quicker it breaks free from the knots. Angus had said that about his Lamplight spell, but what about this one?
The curse is lifted; the curse is done;
Your life is yours to live again;
But here forever you shall be,
until in death, you join me.
“The spell’s breaking free!” he shouted. “Run!” He half-dragged her with him as she tried to keep up. “We have to get out of here!”
They ran.
15
Embril stirred when she heard the sound of horses’ hooves clattering on the stone of the road, and before she was fully awake, she tried to whinny to find out why they were running so fast. It sounded like they were terrified of something and urgently wanted to escape from it. She frowned and stood up, the whinny gathering into a loose knot in her throat and staying there. Then she shook her head, relishing in how her mane slid along the back of her robe. The rich intensity of the sensation bothered her for only a moment before she dismissed it.
The Golden Key (Book 3) Page 19