It was deadly quiet in here. What Eddis could see was hard to distinguish—murky, as though the air itself were dark. A few lamps were set in niches, enough she could make out a vast, vaulting roof, veins of black and red stone writhing across the dull surface of the rock from which a wide, long corridor had been hewn. The floor was smooth and clear and faded into gloom, north and south.
Panev’s lips and hands moved. “As I feared. It is a temple, a cult to worship chaos and death, served by the undead. There are many of the undead both ways,” he said quietly. “A few living, perhaps priests and some guards, but these are few in number. The greater foe in number and evil is that way, which tells me that the priests—and the chief priest—are there.” He pointed north. “None of you,” he added as he gazed around the company, “must touch anything, unless I say it is safe!”
Jerdren nodded. “Pay heed to what he says. We’ll go south first. Make sure there’s none left to attack our rear once we go after these priests.”
Panev drew forth a small, sun-shaped pin and pressed it reverently to his lips before fastening it to his surcoat.
The long south passage took a bend to the right, and just past the bend, the wide corridor split, both passages leading to poorly lit rooms. What they could see of either was empty: no guards, no furniture or furnishings.
Panev indicated the right passage with his wand and quietly said, “There are guards. Undead guards. Be warned.”
To the left, the passage was blocked by a huge fall of stones. Blocked deliberately, Eddis thought, and fought a shiver. Gods, what was so dire that priests who could raise the dead would fear it?
Panev hesitated just short of the left opening to shift his grip on the wand, turned the corner, and strode rapidly into a room lit by guttering torches. Eddis was aware of vast space and a dais at the far end: a throne that glinted red in the dim light. Flerys caught hold of her arm and pointed. Along the walls on either side of the dais, statues of foot soldiers stood or sprawled. She could make out ancient, rusty mail and helms, and here one guard held a heavy, curved sword.
“Gods,” she whispered. “Those aren’t statues! They’re skeletons!”
“Who’d leave bones to guard a throne room?” one of the Keep men murmured.
“They are the enemy,” Panev said sternly. “Fear them, and be wary!”
“But they aren’t moving!” Jerdren whispered in reply.
Kadymus pushed past him, Hebold right on his heels.
“That throne! Look at them jewels!” the youth whispered.
Eddis looked. What she’d taken for fading torchlight shining on metal turned out to be gems—enormous rubies, unless her eyes deceived her.
“Do not touch them!” the priest warned, but Hebold rolled his eyes and passed the little thief at a bound, dagger ready to pry the ruddy stones free.
“Fool of a priest, what’s the danger in a gem?” He chuckled softly as his blade popped one free. “Hah! One of these and a man’s set for life,” he said softly, shoving Kadymus aside as he tried to help.
The breath caught in Eddis’ throat. The skeletons along the south wall were stirring, and a wordless gasp of warning behind her assured her the others were as well.
“Back!” the priest ordered. Kadymus looked up, yelped, and fled the dais. Hebold ignored priest and thief both. He was busily freeing a second stone. The rest of the company backed toward the doorway, Panev setting himself grimly as rearguard against the undead. Bony figures raised their swords and slowly stalked toward him, but two rounded on the barbarian, who suddenly came alert to his peril. He dropped gem and dagger, rolled across the dais as a sword crashed down where his neck had been, leaped to his feet, and swung the battle-axe two-handed, shattering both helm and the skull under it. A second swing and the skeleton broke apart, bones flying and bouncing across the stone floor.
Kadymus yelped as one detached arm clutched at his leg, and he went down. Jerdren swore and grabbed him by the sleeve, dragging him across the floor to relative safety. Hebold snarled curses as the second skeletons blade slashed his hand. He tossed the battle-axe from his right to his left and swung it flat on, slamming the bony guard into the wall. The man looked around wildly, found the company, and ran.
Jerdren pushed past Panev to go to his new ally’s aid, but the priest yanked him back. He was muttering under his breath, and the small, dark wand he held turned briefly a pale green. The remaining skeleton guards backed away from the party and began stalking along the walls. Trying to get around us to flee—or to keep us here, Eddis thought.
“Back!” Mead hissed and pressed past her. She expected one of his fireballs, but the mage threw a day jug of oil into the chamber, splashing many of the skeletons. A burning candle stub followed.
Flames roared high. Dry, rotting doth burst into flames, and several of the nearest undead simply fell over and were consumed. The five still on their feet ran for the doorway, but Hebold and two of the Keep men who carried battering weapons blocked the way and battered them into bone shards and dust.
“Damage,” the priest demanded sternly, and to Eddis’ eyes, he’d grown and changed since entering this cave—turning from mere priest to a deadly force. “Let no cut go untended in such a foul den as this!”
Jerdren turned to stare from the room. “Not yet!” he hissed. “Somethings out there, coming this way!”
The priest’s eyes dosed briefly. “Coming, but not close enough to be a danger.” His dark eyes fixed on Kadymus, smoldered as they picked out Hebold. “I warned you. But take the gems, if you wish. Nothing will challenge you for them now.” He strode over to stamp out the few remaining flames.
“Don’t doubt that I will,” Hebold replied stiffly. “Priest.”
The word sounded like a curse, and Jerdren spoke quietly but urgently against the man’s ear. Hebold nodded, then turned away to scoop up his dagger, so he could free the other stone. He shoved the last in his belt and brought up his chin to meet Eddis’ glare with a challenging stare of his own.
She turned away as if disinterested, then froze. Something was moving out in the hall—close by. Uneven footsteps. Lame guards? she wondered.
What came into sight didn’t look lame so much as corpselike. A zombie, she realized, and swallowed hard. The reek of long-dead bodies filled the chamber. Eight of the foul undead approached slowly, bulging eyes or empty eye sockets fixed on the invaders. They carried no weapons that she could see. She set an arrow to her string and moved offside to get a clear shot. M’Baddah thrust Flerys behind him as he put himself against her left shoulder and drew back on his own bow. Her arrow slammed into the nearest zombie with a nasty squelching sound. M’Baddah’s went clear through its neck and into the shoulder of the one behind. Neither seemed affected.
More arrows: Between them, Willow and M’Baddah had neutralized three, but they were both running out of the magic arrows. Jerdren caught up a spear and swung it at a shuffling corpse. The zombie’s head went flying, and the body collapsed.
“They die like the skeletons!” Jerdren shouted. “Take ’em apart and they’re worthless!” He darted forward, Keep men following, maces and axes swinging.
One cried out and fell. A zombie had him by the ankle. Another man hacked the arm from its body and kicked at it. Blorys hauled the man to his feet and passed him back to Mead. Hebold slammed his heavy axe into one fallen zombie, cutting it nearly in half. Another man cried out in horror and pain.
Sudden silence.
The hall reeked of long-dead flesh, and the floor was slick with black, oily fluid that seeped from severed limbs and heads. Most of Eddis’ arrows were worthless—coated in foul ooze, broken, or the fletches soaked. M’Baddah and Willow retrieved what they could but finally gave up in disgust. Eddis held her breath as they edged past the horrid mess and into the open.