The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [38]
The Breath waited for him somewhere within the Shield, and he needed to begin his search. The Rashemi could deal with the Nar and watch the durthan. He had to make sure the Shield and its secret were safe and secure, and he had to do it in the manner to which he had become accustomed. Alone.
Duras and Thaena shared a quiet look before parting.
As he managed his emotions toward more useful purposes, Bastun knelt and looked again at the body of the dead warrior, at the sightless eyes. He needed no hathran ritual to exile himself and had no intention of waiting for another to arrive. His countrymen had no want or need of his presence, though he chuckled to think of their talk once he was gone.
Even now Syrolf was planting poison in the ears of some of the others. Warriors looked from the dead to the vremyonni and made the signs, the whispers against the evil and misfortune that had plagued them. Bastun met their eyes, each one in turn, and burned those faces into his memory.
This is what I leave, he thought. This is what is left for me here.
Duras gathered several warriors to him, including the ever-watchful Syrolf. More than a few still cast glances at Bastun. He tensed, wondering if his old friend had finally taken to SyrolPs suspicions, but Duras motioned the warriors toward the western doorway. The group turned and nodded solemnly to Thaena who returned the gesture as they made their way out of the hall.
Bastun stood and made his way to a column at the far end of the chamber. Arcane symbols lined the tops of each column and the portal-like arches between them. The reminder of the portal kept his gaze sweeping through the hall as faded maps scrolled through his mind. There ought to be another door…
Leaning against the column, Bastun edged slowly toward the wall until he found a spot of shadow. He paused there as he contemplated what he was about to do. Anilya approached Thaena slowly, looking once toward Bastun and joining the ethran beside the body of the hathran. The pair spoke quietly, almost conspiratorially, and he felt a flash of alarm at the sight.
He felt his window of opportunity closing. Duras would not be gone long, and Bastun knew he could not escape notice forever. Struggling with the decision for a moment he cursed and slipped into the shadow, leaving his friends to their choices. He had his own to deal with.
His hand found the edge of a hidden space, cleverly concealed by the column, and he slid through the gap into a dark, narrow passage. Listening, he made sure his absence was not noticed before feeling his way down the corridor. He followed the wall for several paces, sliding his hands along the icy stone. His heart raced, though he couldn't help but taste freedom on the cold air.
Stiff cobwebs encrusted with frost and dust broke and fell as he passed. The hidden passage seemed to extend forever into the dark. Angling downward as he went, he tried to maintain his position on the map in his mind, but without proper measurements he could not be exactly sure of where he was. His hand brushed against the wall and he pulled away, feeling something cold squirm beneath his glove.
Falling back, he summoned a pale light to the top of his staff. It caught the trailing edge of an unidentifiable shadow disappearing into the black. The sensation of being watched crawled over him.
There were warded places in the Shield, protected against the strange hauntings that frequented the old fortress-this was not one of them. Nor was he likely to find many havens in the deeper corridors he sought.
Forging on more carefully, he held the light