They fanned out and walked slowly toward the huge iron-banded oak doors. The Unknown stood at the centre of the chevron, Hirad and Jandyr to his right, Thraun and Will to his left.
Behind them walked the three mages, Ilkar with the command word for a spell shield on his lips, Erienne preparing light and Denser something altogether more destructive.
At the doors, Jandyr moved up and placed an ear to the wood. “I can't hear anything, but these are very solid. Put it this way, there aren't three hundred screaming worshippers in there.”
“Only one way to find out for sure,” said Hirad.
He trotted up the half dozen worn stone steps, grasped the handles, turned them and pushed. The stench of death swept out as the doors swung back, hinges protesting. Hirad stepped back a couple of paces, his face turned away.
“Gods, that's bad. We need to give it time to clear a little.”
Hastily drawn swords were resheathed and mana shapes were dismissed. No one was going to attack from within.
The Temple was pitch dark inside. While the rest sat on the steps facing away up the path, Ilkar stood to the right-hand side of the doors, looking in at the carnage but turning his head to draw breath. He told what he saw.
The immediate impressions were of bodies and blood covering the black, white and green tiled marble floor. Looking closer, the elf tried to map out the likely course of the fight that had taken place. Right inside the doors, three armed and armoured men in green cloaks lay in a tangle surrounded by four of what had to be the aggressors. They weren't Wesmen, mercenaries perhaps, but their dark leather and look meant they couldn't have been Temple guards.
But what lay further within presented a confusing picture. At the far end of the Temple were sprawled the bodies of at least half a dozen Wrethsires, identified by their deep green cowls, their blood mingling in puddles that collected in dips on the tiled floor. And scattered about the Temple were perhaps twenty more of them, weaponless, defenceless, slaughtered.
Ilkar's eyes, though, rested longest on the scene right in the centre of the Temple. On a five-foot-high plinth, and set in a metal and glass case, sat the Death's Eye Stone—a black orb shot with striations of carmine red and emerald green that swirled around a disc of piercing blue.
Surrounding the stone were half a dozen bodies, though it was difficult to be exact, such was the state of them. Bent, broken, torn and scattered, the swordsmen had been hacked to pieces, in some cases literally. Blood smeared every surface, hugged every crack and spattered every panel of floor and plinth. But it wasn't the dismembered bodies that worried Ilkar; it was that he couldn't fathom who it was that had done it.
So many factors didn't add up. The bodies around the stone were not Wrethsires or guards, their clothing told him that, yet they appeared to have been defending the area around the plinth. And whoever it was that had massacred them so comprehensively hadn't stopped to take the stone. Not only that, they hadn't lost a single one of their number and had then left without leaving a trace of themselves. It just didn't make sense.
He took a deep breath, held it and moved a couple of paces inside.
“Careful, Ilkar,” said Hirad.
Ilkar turned, exhaling. “Hirad, they're all dead.”
“How long?”
Ilkar knelt and put his fingers to a puddle of blood. It was dry. Not a trace of stickiness.
“It's impossible to say. It must have been an oven in there today, it's still hot now. They smell four days dead but it could be less than a day.”
“Let's get moving. Is it breathable?” Hirad ambled up the steps to join his friend.
“Just about.”
“Right,” said Hirad. “Let's get inside, secure the place and start clearing bodies away from the stone. Nobody touch that case just yet.”
Erienne set a standing LightGlobe above the Death's Eye Stone while Thraun took a taper to the braziers set around the walls, at about head height. Will and Jandyr hauled bodies from around the plinth, leaving them against the walls, and The Unknown stood guard at the main doors, scanning the tree line for something he knew could not be there but that gnawed at his insides just the same. Ilkar checked the curtained-off rooms at the rear of the Temple.
Hirad joined Denser, who was studying a series of statues let into alcoves around the walls.
“Interesting, don't you think?” said Denser. Hirad turned a slow circle, taking them in. There were eight of them. Cloaked in green, each statue wore a rich coloured tabard over ceremonial plate and chain armour. Painted masks covered the faces and each carried a double-bladed axe in the crook of its arms. They stood more than eight feet high.
“Completely out of place, aren't they?” asked Hirad.
“Not at all.” Erienne came to his shoulder. “They have a well-documented warrior past. And those masks represented maps of life or death energy, which is where they believe they draw their magic from.”
Denser looked at her askance. “Something of an expert, are you?”
“No, but it pays to have a little knowledge of your contemporaries,” said Erienne shortly.
Ilkar walked back into the main body of the Temple.
“Any idea what happened here?” asked Hirad.
Ilkar shook his head. “There are a couple more bodies of guards back there but nothing's been touched. What I don't get is that those dead around the stone had to be mercenaries, and I'm certain they wouldn't be hired by the Wrethsires.”
“So you're saying they weren't defending the stone?” asked Denser.
“Well, no, I mean, it's still here, isn't it?”
“Does it matter?” asked Will. “Let's just grab it and go.” He was standing right over the case.
“Don't touch it!” snapped Denser. “Sorry, Will. We haven't checked it for traps or wards yet.”
“I thought you said they had nothing to do with mana,” said Will.
“They don't. But you can hire it in if you want to.” Denser took in Erienne and Ilkar with a glance. “Shall we?”
The mages tuned to the mana spectrum and examined the plinth and its case. It was a brief investigation.
“It's clean of mana traps,” said Erienne.
“And what about the Wrethsires’ own magic?” asked The Unknown, taking a pace back into the Temple.
Denser huffed. “They have no static magic capability.”
“You're sure?” said Hirad.
“There's nothing over the stone,” said Denser deliberately.
“Nothing we can detect, anyway,” said Ilkar.
“All right,” said Hirad. “Are we secure?”
The Unknown nodded, turning back to the path outside. Will hunched low over the case, examining its edges and panels, barely even letting his breath fall on it. The rest of The Raven stood in loose formation, watching, Thraun smiling to see Will's hands so steady.
“It's sealed, not trapped as far as I can see. Access is through the top, or do you want me to smash it?”
“No,” said Denser. “We can't risk damaging it in any way. Take your time and lift the lid. If even a shard of glass were to scratch its surface, it would affect Dawnthief.”
Will inclined his head and fished out his tools. He sorted through the intricate pieces and selected a flat-headed wedge of metal, which he inserted gently into the seal of the case lid.
There was a whispering in the Temple. A breeze blew from nowhere, taking the doors and slamming them, the sound reverberating through the building. The Unknown was caught a glancing blow. He staggered but kept his feet. The braziers blew out, leaving only Erienne's globe to light them. Shadows fled up the walls, cutting across the masks of the statues and accentuating their height. They loomed into the Temple, threatening. Beyond the limit of the globe, the darkness closed in and the light seemed weak against it, like a child pushing on a heavy door, never quite able to force it right open.
The whispering gained in intensity, multiple voices swirling in the air, unintelligible, malevolent. The Raven gr
ouped, swords clear of scabbards, the whispers becoming a noise like rushing wind, though the air was still, warm and cloying, the smell of the dead rising to assault the nostrils.
“Ideas, anyone?” asked Hirad. The Unknown pulled at the handles of the main doors. They were stuck fast. “Try the others. Try the shutters. Thraun, take the opposite route.” Hirad was forced to raise his voice over the clash of hundreds of voices from nowhere threatening to drown him out.
He checked either side of him. The mages were unfocused, preparing spells, but the deep frowns suggested they were struggling. Jandyr, scared and wide-eyed, looked everywhere. Will worked furiously at the stone's case. Hirad was dimly aware of the hammering of Thraun and The Unknown on shutters and doors, the dull thuds merely background to the increasing intensity of the whispering voices.
Erienne had her hands to her head, no longer able to concentrate. Ilkar lost his mana shape too, feeling his grip on the fuel of magic loosen. He glanced at The Raven to see them standing in a rough circle about Will and the plinth. His body went cold.
Abruptly, the whispering ceased. The light from Erienne's globe flickered and died. Darkness was total. There was a tinkle as Will dropped his prising tool. Panic.
Erienne stumbled into Denser, sending both sprawling. From the blackness, The Unknown cursed as his head connected with a wall. Will, swords drawn, pushed his way past Hirad into space, breath rushing in and out of his lungs in huge whoops. He stepped on a body and fell, crying out. Hirad, heart beating hard against his ribs, tried to find the remotest chink of light. There was none.
“Ilkar, Jandyr, Thraun, tell us what you see. Erienne, more light. Denser, what's happening?”
The sound of metal scraping on stone rang around the Temple.
“Anybody?” Hirad asked of the dark. To his right, he felt Denser lifting Erienne. “We need that light. What was that noise?” He swayed, balance diminished by the totality of the blackness, boot smearing through the dried surface of a pool of blood. The temperature was rising, the stench of death closing in, stinging the eyes. “Can't someone light a taper, for God's sake?”
“Yes, yes.” Will's tone was edged with desperation. His swords rang back into scabbards; he scrabbled to find light. The scraping sounded again, this time accompanied by a series of heavy thuds that rippled though the floor.
“Oh, no.” Ilkar's voice, laden with dread, cut through the tension.
“What? What?” Hirad was shouting. There was a clang. Then more. Another scraping and metal-shod footsteps.
“The statues are moving. This way,” said Ilkar. “We've got to form up. Fast. Unknown, Thraun, to the centre.”
“Where the hell's that?” snapped the big man.
Ilkar could see him stumbling in vaguely the right direction. “Keep coming dead ahead. Thraun, give him a hand.” He watched Thraun guide the big man quickly past the scattered bodies of the Wrethsire guards.
Hirad looked right, seeing nothing but sensing Erienne near. “Erienne, where's that light?”
“I can't get the mana shape.” Her voice shook.
“Calm.” Denser's voice held steady. “It's all right.”
“No it isn't,” said Ilkar. “Something's disrupting the mana flow. I can't shape anything. And we've got less than a minute before they reach us. Will, get back to the circle, we need that stone.”
“Yes,” said Will. “Jandyr, guide me.” He sounded calmer now.
Soon, The Raven was complete. The Unknown stood next to Hirad, Ilkar next to him. To the right of the barbarian, Jandyr, Denser, Erienne and Thraun. In the middle, Will, patting the floor, searching for and finding his wedge tool. He began to nudge again at the lid of the case.
The clang of metal on marble, the scraping of stone on tile came closer with every heartbeat, and Hirad could sense them. Looming presences, huge in their invisibility, terrifying in their quiet. He moved his blade to ready.
“Ilkar…”
“Gods, it's the Temple itself.” Ilkar's sudden shout made Hirad jump.
“What?” said Denser.
“We were blind before the lights went out. Denser, think. Circular building, domed roof, sealed absolutely, needle point spires…” Ilkar trailed off; he could see realisation cross Denser's face like the knowledge of guilt.
“We're in a Cold Room.”
“Hirad, we've got to get a door or shutter open. Trust me on this. They're on us in twenty seconds.” Ilkar swallowed hard.
A clashing sound signalled eight axes brought to the ready on gauntleted hands. Hirad shook himself, fighting to hang on to his senses. Around him, The Raven stood ready. At least they would die working to save each other. He made his decision.
“Ilkar, Erienne, see what you can do. Everyone else, let's close the circle, try to give them and Will time. Careful underfoot, the blood isn't as dry as it seems. Thraun, Jandyr, keep talking. Gods, that smell is powerful.”
To Hirad's left, The Unknown tapped the point of his sword on the ground. It was time.
“Almost on us,” said Thraun. “Hirad, you have two, axes raised, upper guard. Denser, you have one, Unknown, two. They're all going to swing in unison, left to right diagonal.”
“Ready, Unknown?” Hirad's voice cut through the fog of his own mind. He breathed and gagged, feeling sweat beading in his forehead and dampening his armpits.
“You can never be ready for this. Angle your blade down to move the blows or they'll knock you over.”
Abruptly, the scraping and clanging stopped. There was a susurration around them. Cloaks rustled in the ghost of a breeze. The quiet sent a shiver through Hirad's body.
“Now,” said Jandyr.
The blows came in. At the final moment, Hirad sensed the shape of the statues and the shadow of their blades. Two hands on the hilt, he deflected one strike, swaying from the other. Sparks leapt from blades all round the circle, lighting up the nightmare masked faces of the statues for a beat before plunging them back into darkness. All that was left was the afterimage. It would have been better not to have seen them at all. At least everyone survived the first round.
“They're slow to react,” reported Thraun. “Weapons still low but moving now, probably for a slash. I don't recommend we attack. Let's see what they've got.”
“Very basic conjuration,” said Denser. “If the next blow comes in the same, it's all they have.”
Inside the circle, Will worked feverishly, blind, head so close to the case he could smell the metal and glass above the hideous odour of the dead. Around him, The Raven fought to protect him. He focused his mind, driving away the fear. He'd felt enough with his fingers to know the glass was reinforced, that he'd need a hammer to break it and that Denser didn't want to take that risk. But the seal was complete and he had to find the mechanism that opened it. It had to be there, he just didn't know how much time The Raven could give him to find it.
Ilkar had taken Erienne's hand and dodged the tightening net. But even as he ducked and sidestepped, he knew a blow wouldn't come. The statues had their target. Knowing the doors would be too heavy, Ilkar made for the nearest shutter. Erienne, still blind, stepped on to the face of a Wrethsire guard, the neck twisting sickeningly as her weight moved across the head. She stumbled, grabbed Ilkar and shuddered.
“Gods, it's hideous.”
“All right, Erienne, we're at the edge now.” Ilkar's words calmed her.
“What the hell can we do?” Erienne, her hands placed on the wooden shutter, scrabbled at its edges. Searching but with no hope of finding.
“Think. The Unknown tried force, we have to find the lock.”
“And if it's magical?”
“We have to believe we can damage the Wrethsires’ castings.” He shrugged, although he knew she couldn't see him. “We have to.”
“Second strike coming. Midriff slash, right to left. Back and block,” said Jandyr. “Now.”
A whistle as eight axes missed their targets. Hirad found the experience totally unnerved him. He was no
t in control of the fight. And under his feet, the crusted surface of blood broke, robbing him of confidence in his balance. But the statues were limited in their scope, as Thraun confirmed.
“All right, they're taking up for the first strike again. None of them has changed position. You know what to do. Now.”
The blows came in much heavier than before. Hirad staggered back a pace, his legs brushing against Will behind him. Again his second assailant missed.
“Denser?”
“Still here, just about.”
“Second strike,” warned Thraun. “Now.”
Hirad just recovered in time. Beside him, The Unknown grunted under the force of the blows.
“That's too quick.” If speed and weight of blow kept on increasing at the same rate, Hirad knew it would be a short fight, and he didn't want to die without seeing the eyes of his killer.
Will found it. A pinhole tucked under the rim of the lid. It was exquisite workmanship but he didn't pause to appreciate it. He fished in a belt pouch for his filament wire and guided it, quickly and smoothly, into the hole, thanking the Gods his nerves had returned following the death of Denser's Familiar. Somewhere in the pinhole was the lock mechanism. Around him the fight was becoming more urgent, denying him the concentration he needed. Twice now, Hirad had stumbled backward and his retaliating blows had done nothing but strike terrifying sparks from the silent foe.
Denser was struggling badly. The statues had picked up a rhythm whose pace was increasing, and although he could count it, he was not used to the constant strain the axe strokes produced in the muscles and tendons of his arms. And the fetid stink of rotting flesh clouded his mind and caught in his throat, triggering nausea that weakened his limbs still further. Soon his defence would collapse. He was already imagining the pain.
Ilkar and Erienne felt around the shutter. Nothing. Whatever held it was not mechanical, and without the benefit of any kind of mana flow, Ilkar knew deep down that they couldn't hope to damage the Wrethsires’ conjuration. It would be like trying to put out a fire with a feather. Unless they could break the shutter there was no way out, and if The Unknown couldn't make a dent, what hope did he have? He drew his sword and hammered the pommel on the heavy wood. It was all he could think of to do while behind him, his friends were being inexorably worn down.
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