The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [91]
No one came—no guards, no nightmare beasts. All Thorn heard were distant cries of terror and the howls of the things in the skies above.
“Is it safe?” Drix was still pale, crawling out from around the long table.
“Miraculously,” Thorn said. “Can you stand?”
He nodded and she helped him to his feet. “Sorry,” he said. His voice was still a little rough.
“So. Be quiet when I say to be quiet. Don’t follow me until it’s safe. And whatever you do, don’t eat anything. Is that clear?”
He nodded again and for just a moment, he looked crestfallen. Then his hand found his crossbow, and his smile spread again. “Can we keep moving?” he said. “There’s more testing to do.”
Thorn sighed. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of progress. Which way to the stones, master fletcher?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Taer Lian Doresh
Barrakas 25, 999 YK
For all the doubts Thorn was finding in her heart, it seemed that luck was finally with them. The hallway that lay ahead of them was vast and cold, and there was no sign of life within it. If there had been troops in there, they might have gone to face the manticore when it attacked, or it could simply be that the eladrin never expected anyone to slip by their defenses so easily and thought the scattered patrols would be sufficient.
The chamber reminded Thorn of the Mournland, the beach with the bones cracking beneath her feet. There were no corpses save the hallway itself. It was set up to be a grand feasting hall, long, wooden tables set for dozens of guests. Behind them the kitchen was full to bursting, but in the hall the food was rotting on the platters. The fireplace held only ashes. There was no glass in the arched windows, and the curtains were rotting tatters. The terrible howl echoed through the open windows.
“At least it’s empty,” Thorn murmured. Still, she kept her eyes fixed on the air, watching for the slightest ripple that could warn of a mystical ward. Somehow she couldn’t believe that such a vast area would be left unguarded.
“Not much farther,” Drix whispered. “Straight ahead. Two hundred feet, if that.”
Thorn wished she had some magic left in her. The chance to scout invisibly would have been a blessing. Still, she had to take the risk. “Hold back,” she whispered to Drix.
Pale, flickering light poured through a massive double doorway ahead of them. The doors stood partially open, hanging, half rotted, off rusty hinges. Thorn crept to the arch, peering around the crumbling wood.
It wasn’t hard to guess where they needed to go. The hallway ahead bore no resemblance to the crumbling chamber they were in. There was a thick smell in the air, rot and spices mixed together, and the hall itself seemed to be carved from ivory. It split in a great junction, and at the far end, two sentinels stood by a door of ivory and gold. Their bodies were hidden by long, dark cloaks; their faces covered with masks of tarnished silver.
They haven’t noticed us, Thorn thought. She studied the distance, considering the best way to close the gap before the alarm could be raised. She wanted to do her task quickly and closely; she didn’t want to miss with another throw, and it was already hard to guess where the body lay beneath the swathing cloaks. She held up a hand, ordering Drix to stay back. They had time. As long as something didn’t alert the guards …
Something such as the rotting doorway crumbling as her elbow brushed against it.
In a moment she stood revealed. The guardians charged, pikes lowered, and a sound like a wailing wind filled the hall. One vanished in a burst of light as Drix’s bolt struck him in the shoulder. The other was upon her.
Thorn dodged the first blow of the spear easily enough. She lunged forward, sweeping up and under the haft to gut her foe; her blade slashed through dark robes and empty air.
What is wrong with me?