Avenger by Chris Turner

Author:Chris Turner [Turner, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Innersky Books
Published: 2017-08-23T22:00:00+00:00

III

Down the passage the men tramped, their boots sending up a hail of echoes. As the old woman crouched by the blood tree, they caught snatches of her last mumbling prayers to her mysterious god. Vetra was reluctant to leave her behind, yet there was new relief in his purpose, for her presence was somewhat unsettling. Doubt had pricked his mind of his mission. So far, her advice had only been helpful.

He and the others came out on a bend in the open passage where a cryptic claw-symbol showed in the middle of a three way junction—just as the old woman had predicted. The canyon walls rose up a hundred feet on either side of the split. The left passage plunged down into dark, the middle corridor wound up and showed promise of light, while the right passage was footed with large stones and appeared shielded by a heavy iron gate.

“Which way did the old crone say?” growled Balir.

Kalaman pointed vaguely at the engraved figure that looked something like a hybrid ape and condor. “Left, toward the sign of the Grinning Monkey—or lewd Owl.”

“Numbskull!” Vetra grumbled. “That’s no owl.” He pushed ahead with a disgusted shake of head. “We take the way straight... The high road, always the high road.”

From the middle passage came a drunken form lurching, his chest heaving. A priest, of sorts, Vetra saw, judging by the glinting chest ornaments. The figure spied the armed men and turned on his heels. With a gasp, he scrambled back the way he had come. Vetra gave a grim shout and they all thundered after him, up the murky corridor where they caught a glimpse of his coral-coloured conch. It was not dissimilar to Iokru’s headdress. While they swung swords and grunted curses, the fleet-footed figure seemed to slip by them into the darkness like a wraith, and his footfall suddenly faded out.

Out of the gloom they came, up a wide, sunken stair whose stones were cracked by time. A circular hall stretched before them like a mausoleum and they caught glimpses of rounded forms of crouching statues bathed in moonlight stationed around the perimeter. The features were eroded by rain and wind of ages past. Catching their breaths, they stood peering uncertainly, a tiny glow emanating from some place beyond. More torches glowed from niches set along the walls, emanating faint light. Perhaps the doings of another cult like the ratmen? Vetra frowned in suspicion. The old woman had not mentioned hostile votaries along the way...unless, she was so weak of breath to have forgotten to mention them. Other forces were yet to play out in this eerie sanctuary of Gyzia’s mystery.

The chamber was rich with carven figures and must, he noted, bat dung and decay lying everywhere. The space breathed of an ancient stillness, and yet a horror, which lay thick like a curse. It caused Vetra some grimacing, not the least at the lurid echoes lingering back in the corridor behind them—human footfall, priests’ shouts, dying screams.

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