Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [91]
With the entrance clearly visible, the reason for the magical darkness became evident as well. A step beyond the archway was a yawning pit. Corpses and skeletons were impaled on enormous spikes lining the bottom.
"Looks like nobody's used this passage for a while," he concluded, sheathing the sword in his left hand and picking up his lantern.
"Or maybe something just comes along and cleans the bodies up," Fendel countered, "bones and all."
From his magical sack, Fendel pulled out the long ladder he had somehow stuffed inside earlier that evening. The pit was only a standing leap across, but the deadly spikes below made the prospect of jumping unappealing.
Fortunately, the ladder was long enough to easily reach the other side. Without looking down, Corin slowly made his way across the makeshift bridge spanning the small pit. He moved from rung to rung with agonizing precision, keeping his mind focused on the far side and the potential for an ambush as he crossed.
He reached the opposite edge without incident. Nothing rushed out at him, no creatures or guards waylaid his progress. A second later, Fendel skipped casually across the ladder, moving with the same unconscious grace and carefree ease Corin had earlier admired in the gnome's half-elf protege during their assault on the cult warehouse.
"Traps, but no guards," Fendel said once he had stuffed the ladder back into his enchanted sack. "It's possible Xiliath knows about this tunnel but hasn't shared his secret with anyone else. If he's ever cornered, or betrayed by his own people, he'll always have one last escape route he knows won't be blocked."
Again, Corin agreed with Fendel's assessment. Maybe luck was with them. If Xiliath hadn't even told his guards about the passage, it might be possible to sneak in and out without ever being noticed.
"Here," Fendel said, producing one of the walking sticks from his bag and handing it to Corin. The sturdy staff was about four feet long, several inches around, and made of a light, gnarled wood. Sturdy, yet fairly light. Many of the older citizens of Elversult used such things, leaning on them to help support their feeble joints as they wandered the streets of the fair.
"Don't take a step until you've used this to prod the way ahead of you for danger. Like this." The gnome removed a second staff from his bag and gave a visual demonstration, striking the end firmly against the ground before advancing cautiously forward.
Corin nodded and sheathed his sword. He now clasped the wooden pole in his left hand, and the lantern in his right. Fendel's spell had illuminated the first few yards of the secret tunnel, but the rest of the way was still unlit. However, the magical darkness that had blocked even the beams of their lanterns had been centered over the deadly trap and didn't extend the entire length of the passage.
Their progress was slow and tedious, the methodical search for traps a frustrating but necessary activity as they crept along the gradually sloping passage. After ten minutes they had made little headway-at this point the passage had leveled out, leaving them well below the network of the original smugglers' tunnels. Already, Corin could feel his impatience and frustration mounting.
Half an hour later, the necessity of their tedious pace was suddenly and graphically demonstrated. The pressure of the end of the gnome's staff on the floor unleashed a volley of darts from hidden slits in the wails. The projectiles fired from either side and embedded themselves in the opposite wall only an arm's length ahead of Corin and Fendel.
Neither said a word, but they exchanged a quick glance to assure each other they were both unharmed. Fendel thumped the end of his staff on the floor again, but yielded no effect this time. The trap had been loaded only for a single round.
One look at the corroding, crumbling wall around the protruding darts and Corin understood why a second wave of missiles would have seemed unnecessary to the trap's architect. The darts had been