But even as the forms shifted, the dark eyes remained constant, staring into Tanis’s soul, eyes of the five dragon heads, eyes of the beautiful Temptress, eyes of the fearful Warrior. Tanis felt himself shrivel beneath the scrutiny. He could not bear it, he did not have the strength. Abjectly he sank once more to his knees, groveling before the Queen, despising himself as behind him he heard an anguished, choking cry.
9
Horns of doom.
Lumbering down the northern corridor in search of Berem, Caramon ignored the startled yells and calls and grasping hands of prisoners reaching out from the barred cells. But there was no sight of Berem and no sign of his passing. He tried asking the other prisoners if they had seen him, but most were so unhinged by the tortures they had endured that they made no sense and, eventually, his mind filled with horror and pity, Caramon left them alone. He kept walking, following the corridor that led him ever downward. Looking around, he wondered in despair how he would ever find the crazed man. His only consolation was that no other corridors branched off from this central one. Berem must have come this way! But if so, where was he?
Peering into cells, stumbling around corners, Caramon almost missed a big hobgoblin guard, who lunged out at him. Swinging his sword irritably, annoyed at the interruption, Caramon swept the creature’s head off and was on his way before the body hit the stone floor.
Then he heaved a sigh of relief. Hurrying down a staircase, he had nearly stepped on the body of another dead hobgoblin. It’s neck had been twisted by strong hands. Plainly, Berem had been here, and not long ago. The body was not yet cold.
Certain now he was on the man’s trail, Caramon began to run. The prisoners in the cells he passed were nothing but blurs to the big warrior as he ran by. Their voices shrilled in his ears, begging for freedom.
Let them loose, and I’d have an army, Caramon thought suddenly. He toyed with the idea of stopping a moment and unlocking the cell doors, when suddenly he heard a terrible howling sound and shouting coming from somewhere ahead of him.
Recognizing Berem’s roar, Caramon plunged ahead. The cells came to an end, the corridor narrowed to a tunnel that cut a deep spiral well into the ground. Torches glimmered on the walls, but they were few and spaced far between. Caramon ran down the tunnel, the roar growing louder as he drew closer. The big warrior tried to hurry, but the floor was slick and slimy, the air became danker and heavy with moisture the farther down he went. Afraid he might slip and fall, he was forced to slow his pace. The shouts were closer, just ahead of him. The tunnel grew lighter, he must be coming near the end.
And then he saw Berem. Two draconians were slashing at him, their swords gleaming in the torchlight. Berem fought them off with his bare hands as light from the green gemstone lit the small, enclosed chamber with an eerie brilliance.
It was a mark of Berem’s insane strength that he had held them off this long. Blood ran freely from a cut across his face and flowed from a deep gash in his side. Even as Caramon dashed to his aid, slipping in the muck, Berem grasped a draconian’s sword blade in his hand just as its point touched his chest. The cruel steel bit into his flesh, but he was oblivious to pain. Blood poured down his arm as he turned the blade and—with a heave—shoved the draconian backwards. Then he staggered, gasping for breath. The other draconian guard closed in for the kill.
Intent upon their prey, the guards never saw Caramon. Leaping out of the tunnel, Caramon remembered just in time not to stab the creatures or he risked losing his sword. Grabbing one of the guards in his huge hands, he twisted its head, neatly snapping its neck. Dropping the body, he met the other draconian’s savage lunge with a quick chopping motion of his hand to the creature’s throat. It pitched backwards.
“Berem, are you all right?” Caramon turned and was starting to help Berem when he suddenly felt a searing pain rip through his side.
Gasping in agony, he staggered around to see a draconian behind him. Apparently it had been hiding in the shadows, perhaps at hearing Caramon’s coming. Its sword thrust should have killed, but it was aimed in haste and slanted off Caramon’s mail armor. Scrabbling for his own sword, Caramon stumbled backwards to gain time.
The draconian didn’t intend giving him any. Raising its blade, it lunged at Caramon.
There was a blur of movement, a flash of green light, and the draconian fell dead at Caramon’s feet.
“Berem!” Caramon gasped, pressing his hand over his side. Thanks! How—”
But the Everman stared at Caramon without recognition. Then, nodding slowly, he turned and started to walk away.
“Wait!” Caramon called. Gritting his teeth against the pain, the big man jumped over the draconian bodies and hurled himself after Berem. Clutching his arm, he dragged the man to a stop. “Wait, damn it!” he repeated, holding on to him.
The sudden movement took its toll. The room swam before his eyes, forcing Caramon to stand still a moment, fighting the pain of his injury. When he could see again, he looked around, getting his bearings.
“Where are we?” he asked without expecting an answer, just wanting Berem to hear the sound of his voice.
“Far, far below the Temple,” Berem replied in a hollow tone. “I am close. Very close now.”
“Yeah,” Caramon agreed without understanding. Keeping a fast hold on Berem, he continued to look around. The stone stairs he had come down ended in a small circular chamber. A guardroom, he realized, seeing an old table and several chairs sitting beneath a torch on the wall. It made sense. The draconians down here must have been guards. Berem had stumbled on them accidentally. But what could the draconians have been guarding?
Caramon glanced quickly around the small stone chamber but saw nothing. The room was perhaps twenty paces in diameter, carved out of rock. The spiral stone stairs ended in this room and—across from them—an archway led out. It was toward this archway Berem had been walking when Caramon caught hold of him. Peering through the arch, Caramon saw nothing. It was dark beyond, so dark Caramon felt as if he were staring into the Great Darkness the legends spoke of. Darkness that had existed in the void long before the gods created light.
The only sound he could hear was the gurgling and splash of water. An underground stream, he thought, which accounted for the humid air. Stepping back a pace, he examined the archway above him.
It was not carved out of the rock as was the small chamber they were in. It had been built of stone, crafted by expert hands. He could see vague outlines of elaborate carvings that had once decorated it, but he could make nothing out, time and the moisture in the air had long ago worn them away.
As he studied the arch, hoping for a clue to guide him, Caramon nearly fell as Berem clutched at him with sudden, fierce energy.
“I know you!” the man cried.
“Sure,” Caramon grunted. “What in the name of the Abyss are you doing down here?”
“Jasla calls...” Berem said, the wild look glazing his eyes once more. Turning, he stared into the darkness beyond the archway. “In there, I must go.... Guards... tried to stop me. You come with me.”
Then Caramon realized that the guards must have been guarding this arch! For what reason? What was beyond? Had they recognized Berem or were they simply acting under orders to keep everyone out? He didn’t know the answers to any of these questions, and then it occurred to him that the answers didn’t matter. Neither did the questions.
“You have to go in there,” he said to Berem. It was a statement, not a question. Berem nodded and took a step forward eagerly. He would have walked straight into the darkness if Caramon hadn’t jerked him back.
“Wait, we’ll need light,” the big man said with a sigh. “Stay put!” Patting Berem on the arm, then keeping his gaze fixed on him, Caramon backed up until his groping hand came into contact with a torch on the wall. Lifting it from its sconce, he returned to Berem.