Extinction - Lisa Smedman [112]
As Pharaun completed his spell, flicking the seeds at the tunnel's end wall and pointing with his forefinger, Valas braced himself. The stone before him shimmered, then seemed to melt away in front of Pharaun's finger, revealing a large room about ten paces ahead. A rush of stale air came back along the tunnel, carrying with it the smell of dust and desiccated flesh.
Quiet as a spider, Valas crept forward and peered into the ancient treasure vault. It was, as the rogue had described, immense. Circular in shape, it was perhaps a hundred and fifty paces across and fifty paces high, with a domed roof whose ceiling was inlaid with intricate mosaics. Those, wrought in polished pebbles-many of them semiprecious stones-depicted a number of the surface elves' gods, bows in hand with arrows nocked. Portions of the mosaic had fallen away in spots where tree roots had grown down through the ceiling, bulging its masonry inward. Chunks of stone and a scattering of earth lay on the floor below. The gods that remained in the mosaic frowned down into the empty room as if angered by its decrepit state.
At floor level-about five paces below the tunnel in which Valas crouched-were three doors, set at equal distances from each other. The one immediately below Valas and to his right looked as though it had been blasted off its hinges. Thar was how the rogue and his companions had entered, after negotiating a corridor filled with more traps than a spider's nest had eggs. Wisely, Quenthel-or rather Pharaun, who had subtly persuaded her-had chosen not to try that route.
Valas stared into the darkened room, listening intently. Of the wraiths there was no sign, but that was not unusual. Wraiths could pass through walls, and they might appear at any moment. Nor was there any sign of the bodies of the rogue's companions. Again, that was not surprising. Risen again as wights, they probably left through the ruined door in search of fresh meat-only to be cut to pieces by the blade traps that lined the corridor. Their stench, however, lingered in the still air… or did it?
Glancing up at the ceiling again, Valas saw a skull nested in one of the tangles of tree root that bulged down into the room. The vault must have been built under a graveyard. The surface elves were known for planting trees atop the graves of their dead. With all of the moldering corpses that lay just above the ceiling, it was no wonder wraiths were drawn to the place.
Pharaun crept up behind Valas and stared down into the vault.
See anything? the Master of Sorcere signed.
Transferring both daggers into one hand, Valas shook his head and replied, I see no sign of the wraiths-or of the portal.
If it's here, you soon will, Pharaun signed back.
The wizard began whispering the words to a spell. He passed a hand through the air, palm toward the room. After a moment, a circle at the center of the room began to glow a faint purple.
There, he signed, pointing.
Valas made a mental note of the spot, then continued watching and waiting. Since magic had disturbed the air of the vault, the wraiths would likely appear that much sooner. Assuming, that was, that the rogues story had been accurate.
The fellow had claimed the vault still held treasure-something Valas hadn't told his companions, since it might have distracted them from their mission-but the room was clearly empty. Perhaps the rogue had been lying about the wraiths, as well. Neither the sudden appearance of a magic-hewn tunnel in one wall of the vault nor the divination Pharaun had just cast had brought them out into the open. If wraiths had once haunted that place where the gods frowned in stony silence, they seemed to have gone.
But that didn't mean Valas wouldn't take precautions. Hanging around his neck on a delicate gold chain was an amulet crafted by the surface elves and shaped like a golden sun. He pulled it out from under his armor and kissed it, then let it hang free against his chest, ignoring Pharaun's raised eyebrows. If any