Storm of the Dead - Lisa Smedman [103]
A whimper struggled to escape his throat. With a savage effort, he swallowed it down. He shifted the strongbox into the crook of one arm and adjusted his hood, using the motion to once again brush his fingers against the skullcap-mask. Masked Lord, he silently prayed, give me strength.
Confidence stirred like a whisper in the darkness, then flooded him like a shaft of moonlight. His shoulders squared, his heart lightened, his step grew more confident. I can do it, he told himself. Just a few steps more.
Then he was inside.
He halted as abruptly as he'd entered. If he hadn't, it all would have ended right there. He stood on the edge of a precipice; the interior of the Acropolis of Thanatos was nothing more than an empty hole. Walls, floors, ceiling beams-all ended abruptly, as if the stone building were a squash that had been scraped empty by a spoon. At the center of this hollow hung a sphere of utter blackness. Kвras could feel it tugging at him, and he found himself leaning toward it. When he flinched back, a tiny fragment of marble broke off from the edge where his foot had been. The chip of stone flew toward the sphere at the center of the hollow space, spiraling in toward it, then was gone.
"Voidstone," he whispered.
The sphere sucked hungrily at his essence, chilling him until his bones ached. He tried to take the measure of the thing but couldn't. It was enormous, as large as a small building. The Crones must have been working at it for years, building it up one tiny chunk at a time.
Seeing the immensity of it, his heart sank. Destroying it would take dozens of priests, working in concert to channel positive energy into it. Before there was even a hope of attempting this, the army of undead that filled the streets below would have to be defeated.
Cavatina had been right. They would have to mount an attack on the Acropolis.
The sphere of darkness wasn't entirely featureless. If Kвras turned his head slightly, he could see shapes and movement out of the corner of his eye. Wild images filled the voidstone's depths: the towers of a city, rows of skeletal undead lined up like soldiers, a plaza filled with capering ghouls, a minotaur seated on a bone throne. The latter twisted around to stare at Kвras. A bestial muzzle pressed against the surface of the voidstone sphere from within. Lips twitched in a grimace, revealing elongated fangs.
Free me, the minotaur hissed. And my legions will serve you.
"Soon, Lord Casus," a soft voice answered. "Soon."
Kвras started, nearly dropping the strongbox. Slowly he turned.
Standing just behind him was a female he recognized: Cabrath, of House Nelinderra. Her face was clean of the death's head paint she habitually wore, but she looked no better for it. Her lips were a narrow slash, her nose a second, vertical slash, and her eyes mere slits. She wore black robes trimmed with purple. She toyed with a bone-handled dagger whose blade was a tapering glimmer of blue energy. The harsh light glinted off the silver rings on her fingers.
Kвras was surprised to see her there. He'd assumed she'd died with the rest of the Crones when Kiaransalee's cult in Maerimydra was overthrown.
A bone-white aura wavered around her, chill as mist in a graveyard. It brushed against Kвras-he didn't dare flinch, lest Cabrath realize something was wrong. Its brief touch left him feeling sick and weak. In another moment, he thought, he would faint. Tumble and slide down the slope in front of him into the voidstone and be consumed.
Staring at the orb was better than looking into Cabrath's terrible amber eyes. Kвras tore his gaze away from her. The voidstone was black again, unmarked by visions.
Cabrath drifted around in front of Kвras, her hair streaming back toward the voidstone. Her body was translucent; Kвras could see the voidstone right through her. She was dead.
She tilted her head at the voidstone. "Feed him."
Kвras hesitated, even though he knew there was little he could do. In death, Cabrath had become something more than the