Ghost Peak by C. M. Alongi

Author:C. M. Alongi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: C. M. Alongi

CHAPTER EIGHT

JINUA’S STOMACH WAS about to claw its way out of her gut by the time she reached the stairs. Maintaining her holy light at the dimmest setting had been a necessity in the pitch blackness, but it felt like her bones were made of air.

She climbed the half-story’s worth of steps to a hole in the ceiling. It had once been a trap door—perhaps hidden? But the door itself was several feet away, as if a giant had ripped it free and carelessly tossed it aside. Or a paladin.

Either the paladins sent a force into the tunnels to sneak into the school while the main force broke down the front gate, or they’d chased after the retreating necromancers.

The former made a lot more sense than the latter. No necromancer of importance had been at Ghost Peak. In fact, the only particularly famous paladin to have fought here was Dolofin, and that had been because he’d died. Though he hadn’t made much of a mark on history before that, his death drove the war to greater heights as his brethren swore to avenge him and fight harder. The rest of the necromancer forces had folded soon after.

There were holes in the walls and ceiling, enough to let in the stars and moonlight. Jinua extinguished her light, sat at the top of the steps, and just breathed for a while, regaining her strength, wishing she had something to eat to shut up her gurgling stomach.

Her belt was empty of imtiat potions, and she hadn’t thought to take anything other than her weapons when investigating the ghostly noises with Ontiku. She wasn’t going to repeat that mistake again.

She looked around the room, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. It was medium-sized, enough to house a couple dozen or so people. A lecture hall, perhaps? There was no furniture, but there were old, dusty mats that the mice had been at.

No, wait. As her eyes adjusted, she made out a figure standing in the corner.

“Hello?” she called.

Nothing.

Biting back a groan, she snapped her fingers, bringing back the dim light. It was a statue of Saret, the god of prophecy, knowledge, intellect, study, and libraries.

Jinua blinked, turning off the light and approaching the statue. He wore scholarly robes that draped around his shoulders and torso in a way that must have been fashionable two hundred years ago.

It was a very plain statue, the paint dulled and chipped away, and the owl on his shoulder was cut in half, its head lying by Jinua’s toe. He was also missing an arm. The wall behind him was almost completely gone, with two massive holes that made Jinua wonder how it was still supporting the ceiling.

This was a temple.

And they had fought in it.

Jinua left the room, finding herself in a hall. More holes in the walls and ceilings lit her way. Some of the rooms were completely destroyed, open to the air. All of them bore scars of battle.

Neseba’s room was barely recognizable, since the goddess of beauty, music, art, literature, and speech was missing her head.

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