The Jewel of Turmish - Mel Odom [38]
"Rats!" Hekkel exclaimed.
"They ain't going to hurt you," Two-Fingers said. "They're… they're all dead."
Cerril gazed down at the floor in front of the mysterious coffin. Dozens of rats, most of them reaching from the tips of his fingers to his elbow in length, lay stretched out on the floor. Only a few of the creatures had come to their deaths in recent times. Most of them were skeletons. Spiders, once industrious enough to make elaborate webs, hung dead in the center of their creations or on the floor. One of the arachnids struggled in its web. The legs twitched, but the spider gave no indication that it would ever get free.
Tymora's blessing," someone breathed into the stillness of the room. "Goddess look over us."
"Cerril," Two-Fingers called. "We shouldn't be here. Whatever killed them rats and spiders is like to do for us as well."
"No." Cerril took a step forward, drawn toward the coffin in spite of the overwhelming fear that filled him. "I can't leave."
"Well, I can," someone said.
"If you leave," another said, "you don't share in what we find down here."
"What we find?" Hekkel repeated. "We're gonna find whatever killed them rats and spiders. That's all. Me, I don't want none of that."
"Cerril," Two-Fingers called. "Is that what we're gonna find here? Just death?"
Cerril took another step forward. His fear made his legs weak. He hoped they'd collapse beneath him, thinking that way he'd never have to take those final few steps to the roffin, but bis knees held. Only three short strides later he stood at the coffin's side.
Candlelight danced along the icy surface. Dozens of facets caught the gleaming reflections of the burning candle. A wet sheen clung to the coffin, but Cerril knew the coffin wasn't melting.
Two-Fingers called for him again, but Cerril couldn't answer. All of his attention was riveted on the strange coffin.
Despite the muggy heat trapped inside the small room, a preternatural chill ate into Cerril's bones, chewing through his flesh without pause. Over the last few minutes, the candle had burned down to little more than a stub that leaked melted tallow over the thief s fingers and hand. Earlier the heat from the tallow had been almost hot enough to burn and had caused some discomfort. Now the melted tallow hardened almost at once, adding layers of thickness that created a shell over his hand.
"Cerril," Two-Fingers whispered. "C'mon. We shouldn't be here."
Cerril gazed at the diamond-bright coffin and saw the reflection of the boys behind him. All of them had moved back and filled the small passageway that led into the crypt.
The coffin had been crafted from chunks of ice. All the pieces had been shaved so the fit was precise despite the angles that were required to encase whatever lay within.
"Cerril," Two-Fingers pleaded.
Hypnotized by the icy beauty of the coffin, Cerril knelt. Malar's coin pulsed heat in his hand. His breath fogged the coffin's gleaming exterior for a moment then cleared away as he took his next breath. Hesitant, fear strong within him now, he touched the coffin with his free hand.
Cold fire burned into Cerril's fingers. When he tried to move them, he found they'd frozen to the coffin. Panicked, he yanked his fingers back. Imprints of his fingers-and a few bits of skin-showed against the icy surface, then they froze over and returned to smooth blue ice.
Cerril wasn't certain if the imprints and skin had sloughed away or been absorbed into the coffin. He tried to draw back from the coffin but found he couldn't. Before he knew it, his hand bearing the Stalker's coin rose. Despite his best efforts, he followed his possessed hand up.
"What are you doing?" Hekkel asked.
Cerril tried to speak but couldn't. Even if he'd been able, he knew he'd only scream in terror. His gaze locked on a design that had been etched into the icy surface of the coffin, scored deep,