The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [59]
Reaching down, he wedged his fingers around the edges of the stone and lifted it carefully up. He set it to the side. Placing his hand inside the hollow beneath he felt the leather-wrapped handle of what he had sought and pulled it free.
Covered in dirt, the wavy blade bore intricate symbols and crude markings. Holding it in both hands he inspected the sword with a mage's eye. Sharp to the touch, it was nothing like the weapons that surrounded him. Forged by wizards and enchanted by King Arkaius of Shandaular himself, the Breath was the key to the Shield's most powerful weapon-the Word, a weapon that had marked the end of the city.
To Bastun's knowledge, Keffrass had been the last person to lay hands upon the sword before the wychlaren had laid claim to the Shield as their outpost. He had always meant to return, to study the altered runes of the Ilythiiri and try to dismantle them, but his responsibilities in the Running Rocks prohibited it. In the meantime, the Breath remained hidden, buried, and spoken of only to the othlor and those hathran deemed worthy. And Bastun.
Bastun's knowledge of the Shield's secrets had been his greatest treasure for many years, a gift from an old man who had seen something in him that no one else ever had-potential.
Holding onto the Breath for a few moments longer, satisfied of its safety, he dipped the point of the sword back into the hole. With the blade halfway in he felt the floor shake, and the walls shook. Eyes wide, he froze and listened. Dust fell from the ceiling, and he could hear the edges of tiny cracks popping as they grew in the stone. Alarmed, he turned around, raising his staff.
A thin cloud of dust filled the outer chamber, and a crash from above sent more spilling from the ceiling. He stood, the Breath in one hand, his axe-staff in the other, as the sound faded to faint and distant rumblings. In the brief silence that followed, a second sound reached his ears-the scuff of a boot on loose gravel.
A silhouette appeared outside the room. Bright eyes regarded him through the fog of dust, and he could make out the sound of a slow, measured breath-the breathing of a thief on the prowl or an assassin before a kill.
"Ohriman," he said, his earlier relief fading in the face of reality. He felt foolish for indulging his fears-and even more so for believing, however briefly, that he had been alone save for ghosts and memories.
"Vremyonni," the tiefling replied. He stepped into the light, a thin blade held at his side.
"How did you follow me?" Bastun asked, stalling for enough time to prepare a defensive spell. Ohriman seemed in no hurry, though his cat-like eyes did wander to the ceiling more than once. "The haunting in this place is quite formidable."
"Yes, the ghosts," Ohriman said, standing his ground in the center of the room. He appeared casual save for the sword. "Terrible little fiends, aren't they?"
The walls shook yet again. This impact felt closer. Larger chunks of the ceiling fell, and stones the size of walnuts bounced in the dust. Bastun didn't answer, raising his staff as he lowered the Breath to his side. He took one long, cleansing breath, preparing himself for the next few moments. Ohriman raised an eyebrow and smiled as he surveyed the growing cracks above them.
"Well, no matter to me. Your witches have a knack for keeping little beasties like that quiet and out of the way. I like having them around, long as they're paying me no attention." He held out a hand. The glove upon it was of a black cloth and held a barely perceptible nimbus of shadow. "Now, I suppose I can guess your answer, but considering the reputation you have among your friends upstairs, I'll ask anyway-"
"I will not give you the Breath," Bastun said.
Ohriman nodded, smirking as he did so. "Have your own game to play?" he said, eyes narrowing. "I can respect that."
The tiefling lunged, his blade lightning-quick. Bastun parried the strike with his axe blade and swung the Breath in a wide arc. Ohriman skipped backward, spreading his arms and smiling as he gave the vremyonni