Nullat stopped and, trembling, held the torch out toward the rat pack. “Master, perhaps we should turn back. I’ve not seen such a gathering of rats in weeks. There are enough of them to bring us down.”
“Be calm,” Cholik ordered. “Let me have your torch.” The last thing he wanted was for Nullat’s ravings to begin talk of an omen again. There had been far too much of that.
Hesitating a moment as if worried Cholik might take the torch from him and leave him in the darkness with the rats, Nullat extended the torch.
Cholik gripped the torch, steadying it with his hand. He whispered words of prayer, then breathed on the torch. His breath blew through the torch and became a wave of flame that blasted across the piles of stones and debris like a blacksmith’s furnace as he turned his head from one side to the other across the line of rats.
Crying out, Nullat dropped and covered his face, turning away from the heat and knocking the torch from Cholik’s grasp. The torch licked at the hem of Cholik’s robes.
Yanking his robes away, the priest said, “Damn you for a fool, Nullat. You’ve very nearly set me on fire.”
“My apologies, master,” Nullat whimpered, jerking the torch away. He moved it so fast that the speed almost smothered the flames. A pool of glistening oil burned on the stone floor where the torch had lain.
Cholik would have berated the man further, but a sudden weakness slammed into him. He tottered on his feet, barely able to stand. He closed his eyes to shut out the vertigo that assailed him. The spell, so soon after the one he’d used against Raithen and so much stronger, had left him depleted.
“Master,” Nullat called out.
“Shut up,” Cholik ordered. The hoarseness of his voice surprised even him. His stomach rolled at the rancid smell of burning flesh that had filled the chamber.
“Of course, master.”
Forcing himself to take a breath, Cholik concentrated on his center. His hands shook and ached as if he’d broken every one of his fingers. The power that he was able to channel was becoming too much for his body. How is it that the Light can make man, then permit him to wield powerful auguries, only to strip him of the mortal flesh that binds him to this world? It was that question that had begun turning him from the teachings of the Zakarum Church almost twenty years ago. Since that time, he had turned his pursuits to demons. They, at least, gave immortality of a sort with the power they offered. The struggle was to stay alive after receiving it.
When the weakness had abated to a degree, Cholik opened his eyes.
Nullat hunkered down beside him.
An attempt to make himself a smaller target if there are any vengeful rats left, Cholik felt certain. The priest gazed around the chamber.
The magical fire had swept the underground chamber. Smoking and blackened bodies of rats littered the debris piles. Burned flesh had sloughed from bone and left a horrid stink. Only a few slight chitterings of survivors sounded, and none of them seemed inclined to come out of hiding.
“Get up, Nullat,” Cholik ordered.
“Yes, master. I was only there to catch you if you should fall.”
“I will not fall.”
Glancing to the side of the trail as they went on, Cholik gazed down into the abyss to his left. Careful exploration had not proven there was a bottom to it, but it lay far below. The excavators used it as a pit for the bodies of dead slaves and other corpses and the debris they had to haul out of the recovered areas.
Despite the fact that he hadn’t been down in the warrens beneath Tauruk’s Port in weeks, Cholik had maintained knowledge of the twisting and turning tunnels that had been excavated. Every day, he scoured through all manner of things the crews brought to the surface. He took care in noting the more important and curious pieces in journals that he kept. Back in Westmarch, the information he’d recorded on the dig site alone would be worth thousands in gold. If money would have replaced the life and power he was losing by degrees, he’d have taken it. But money didn’t do those things; only the acquisition of magic did that.
And only demons gave so generously of that power.
The trail they followed kept descending, dipping down deep into the mountainside till Cholik believed they might even be beneath the level of the Dyre River. The constant chill of the underground area and the condensation on the stone walls further lent to that assumption.
Only a few moments later, after branching off into the newest group of tunnels that had been made through Ransim’s remains, Cholik spotted the intense glare created by the torches and campfires the excavation team had established. The team had divided into shifts, breaking into groups. Each group toiled sixteen hours, with an eight-hour overlap scheduled for clearing out the debris that had been dug out of the latest access tunnels. They slept eight hours a day because Cholik found that they couldn’t be worked any more than sixteen hours without some rest and sleep and still stay healthy for any appreciable length of time.
The mortality rate had been dimmed by such action and the protective wards Cholik had set up to keep the rats and undead at bay, but it had not been eradicated. Men died as they worked there, and Cholik’s only lament was that it took Captain Raithen so long to find replacements.
Cholik passed through the main support chamber where the men slept. He followed Nullat’s lead into one of the new tunnels, skirting the piles of debris that fronted the entrance and the first third of the tunnel. The old priest passed the confusion with scant notice, his eyes drawn to the massive gray and green door that ended the tunnel.
Men worked on the edges of the massive door, standing on ladders to reach the top at least twenty feet tall. Hammers and chisels banged against the rock, and the sound echoed in the tunnel and the chamber beyond. Other men shoveled refuse into wheelbarrows and trundled them to the dumpsites at the front of the tunnel.
The torchlight flickered over the massive door, and it inscribed the symbol raised there for all to see. The symbol consisted of six elliptical rings, one spaced inside another, with a twisting line threading through them in yet another pattern. Sometimes the twisting line went under the elliptical rings, and sometimes it went over.
Staring at the door, Cholik whispered, “Kabraxis, Banisher of the Light.”
“Get him! Get him! He’s up here with us!” Orphik screamed.
Glancing up, not wanting to leap into the path of the little man’s knives as he came at him on the cliff ledge, Darrick watched the pirate start for him. The hobnailed boots scratched sparks from the granite ledge.
“Bloody bastard nearly did for me, Lon,” Orphik crowed as he made his knives dance before him. “You stay back, and I’ll slit him between wind and water. Just you watch.”
Darrick had only enough time to push himself up on his hands. His left palm, coated in blood from his sliced finger, slipped a little and came close to going out from under him. But his fingers curled around a jutting rocky shelf, and he hurled himself to his feet.
Orphik swung his weapons in a double slash, right hand over left, scissoring the air only inches from Darrick’s eyes. He took another step back as the wiry little pirate tried to get him again with backhanded swings. Unwilling to go backward farther, knowing that a misstep along the narrow ledge would prove fatal, Darrick ducked below the next attack and stepped forward.
As he passed the pirate, Darrick drew the long knife from his left boot, feeling it slide through his bloody fingers for just a moment. Then he curled his hand around the weapon as Orphik tried to spin to face him. Without mercy, knowing he’d already been offered no quarter, Darrick slashed at the man’s boot. The leather parted like butter at the knife’s keen kiss, and the blade cut through the pirate’s hamstring.
Losing