As they came to it, they could see scores of carved faces in the stone, twisted and misshapen, a demonic warning.
“This is the only way forward,” said Cellester.
The others said nothing, swords gripped tightly, and went into the darkness. There was a foulness about the air, a graveyard stench. The tunnel was narrow, twisting, turning, and confusing. They listened all the while for sounds of pursuit, but the horrors behind them did not seem to have crossed the river and ventured into the tunnel. Vaddi felt particularly uneasy. He was certain that the tunnel was gradually veering to the left, which meant it must be curving around toward the city.
After an age, they saw vague, greenish light ahead—an opening back into the open air and night. Cautiously they emerged to find themselves on another ledge with rock-hewn steps leading down to another bridge. It led across to Voorkesh.
Vaddi looked behind them to where the cliff face rose, sheer and glassy, no way up its smooth surface. Something on its ridge swayed and pulsed, some living entity, another foul guardian of this realm.
They saw clearly now the bizarre architecture of the city, its twisted piles. Its towers leaned at angles, linked by bridges that looked more like the frozen webbing of huge spiders. Windows gaped like misshapen, distorted mouths. Sculpted temple blocks suggested remote antiquity, a world before the time of men, where their denizens crawled or hopped but did not walk on two legs. All this was bathed in a green miasma of light that seeped upward from whatever existed below the city.
“At least it seems deserted,” said Vaddi.
Nyam, who had said nothing for a long time, shook his head, his terror clear to see. They went down the dizzy stair to the bridge, and now they could hear something in the tunnel they had left, squeezing its bulk through it, snarling with hungry anticipation.
They crossed the bridge and entered the first street of Voorkesh. Every building was like a mausoleum, towering over them, exuding dark waves of malefic power. They could sense that they were being watched and weighed, but still there was no sign of attack, and the grim beings that had forced them to flee here had not followed.
“We dare not leave the city until dawn,” said Cellester. “The creatures will have gone back to their lairs by then. We must find somewhere to wait. If we can just survive this place until the sun comes up …”
They came to a wide square, beyond which a grotesque structure rose up. Nyam shuddered. “We’ve been herded here for a reason.”
As if in response to his words, a dozen figures appeared on either side of the building, though they seemed substantial. They crossed the square in silence. To Vaddi’s horror they looked like the vampires they had encountered outside the city.
“Welcome, travellers,” said the first of them—a tall, angular being, pale-faced and with remarkably piercing eyes. “In the temple, there is food and drink. You need have no fear here. The night is not a good time to be beyond the walls of Voorkesh.”
The three men kept close to each other, following the figures, knowing that the streets were no longer empty. Other shapes waited there, possibly in significant numbers.
Inside the temple, its main chamber was huge, reeking with age. Colossal statues reared up, depictions of creatures unknown to man, intensely alien, their presence redolent with hostility. They had long, dangling tentacles, lower faces extended into claw-like mandibles. They glowered down at the puny beings that had invaded their chamber with jewelled eyes that flickered with scarlet light, reflected from the heaped braziers around the rim of the vault.
“Refresh yourselves,” said the tall creature. He indicated a circular slab of granite, where food and drink had been spread.
“Touch nothing,” whispered Cellester.
Limned in the flickering glow of the coals, more figures flowed forward from the ring of statues, silent as ghosts. Clad in long robes from head to foot, hairless and white as bleached bones, they were unmistakably undead. As one, they awaited some signal.
Vaddi could hear movement on the steps behind and below him. Very slowly he slipped his fingers inside his robe, brushing the wrappings of the horn. If they were to fight, he would unleash whatever power he could draw from it, no matter what the risks might be.
From somewhere beyond the ring of undead acolytes, a being came forward into the garish light, the sound of its boots echoing from the polished flagstones. The three men could feel its eyes upon them—a steel, cruel gaze. There would be no mercy here. Ancient evils had been stirred up by their coming.
The glow of the fires threw this creature’s face into sharp relief. Each of them gasped. Vaddi drew back, a cold hand closing over his heart, for it was Caerzaal.
The vampire lord made a brief, mocking bow. “We meet once more. Our parting was all too swift.” His feral teeth gleamed.
Beside him stood two other tall men, also dressed in black, long swords strapped to either side of them. By their white skin and scarlet eyes, Vaddi guessed that they, too, were vampires.
Vaddi watched, mesmerised by the tall figure as he strode forward. Like a serpent, the man’s eyes were fixed on him, malignant and scathing.
Caerzaal came to within a few feet of the three travellers. “So little to say?”
Cellester’s sword hovered inches from the vampire lord’s chest. “This abduction will serve you ill,” he said softly.
Caerzaal smiled, his teeth again gleaming, but in that smile there was only the promise of torment and pain. “I do not think so, cleric. I should have recognised you on the island, you who cast aside your faith in the Church. So many have, but why be opposed to this union? The Emerald Claw would embrace you and your companions.”
“We spit upon the Emerald Claw,” said Vaddi, the fury rising in him as he saw again this creature striking down his father, but he felt Nyam’s fingers closing on his arm, restraining him.
Caerzaal laughed, a chilling, mocking sound. “Do you indeed? Not for much longer, son of Orien. Once you have taken the Blood of Vol, you will reconsider. You will give your power freely to us. You will wonder why it has taken you so long to capitulate. You will luxuriate in new powers, new lifetimes.” His eyes dropped to Vaddi’s chest, to where the horn lay hidden. “And you will release the real power inherent in the Crimson Talisman. It will be such a relief to you.”
Vaddi considered drawing out the horn, knowing that Caerzaal, for all his dominance here, was yet afraid of it, but some inner voice warned him against it.
“You will taste its retribution before it ever bends to the Claw’s will,” said Cellester.
Caerzaal turned upon him, eyes flashing with cruelty. “You think so? You, who are but a mock friend to House Orien.”
Cellester’s sword point dipped closer to the vampire, but the two guards beside Caerzaal moved with frightening speed, their own blades crossed protectively in front of their master. Caerzaal stood beside them arrogantly, lips drawn back in scorn.
“Oh yes, Cellester, former servant of the Silver Flame. Beguiled from that service by House Orien, or should I say, its mistress?”
Vaddi could sense the fury within Cellester at those words, the cleric’s whole body tensing, as though he would fly at his hated enemy. He would die instantly on the blades of the guards, Vaddi was sure of that. His life meant nothing to Caerzaal.
“He was a fine servant to your mother, Vaddi d’Orien,” the vampire said, “but I am sure he has neglected to tell you that. Oh, he served your father well enough and won plaudits for his efforts. And Anzar’s trust. But the cleric’s love was reserved for your mother. Why else do you think he hovered about Marazanath?”