Labyrinth of the Lost by Andy Clark

Author:Andy Clark
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-03-24T13:27:16+00:00

Chapter Six

THE WEIGHT OF TRUTH

‘Looks safe enough,’ said Hathrek, feeling a profound sense of relief as he waved his blazing torch around the confined space. The flames growled and sputtered, throwing jagged shadows around the small chamber. Arachnid things with too many legs retreated from the light, folding themselves into cracks in the crystalline walls. Otherwise nothing moved, and there seemed only one way in or out of the crystalline oubliette.

‘It is far from the false Heavens. It will serve,’ replied Avanius, following the Darkoath Chieftain into the small room. Sornsson trudged in after him, one side of his face bruised and swollen. Eithweil was absent one moment, there the next, haunting the archway through which they had entered.

‘I have woven what enchantments I am able here,’ came her whisper. ‘I cannot promise that they will fool everything that stalks these endless passages. The tower may undo what I have done.’

‘Thank you, Eithweil,’ replied Avanius simply. ‘Any measure of security is better than none.’ The Stormcast limped to the far end of the crystal chamber and lowered himself into a sitting position with his back against the wall. Slowly, he reached up and unbuckled the straps of his battle helm, before lifting it free and placing it at his side. The face revealed was somehow younger than Hathrek had expected, its features strong and noble, but strange in a way he struggled to define. There was pain there, revealed in the tightness of the square jaw and lightning-blue eyes, but also an otherness that was profoundly unsettling. Hathrek was glad his companion normally went masked.

‘You’re injured,’ Hathrek observed, endeavouring to keep his tone scornful. Avanius nodded, his breath rasping with fluid. His breastplate was scorched and warped out of shape where the daemonfires had struck him.

‘We all are injured,’ he replied.

‘You’re worse,’ pressed Hathrek, seating himself against a different wall. ‘So how does this work? Do you heal the way the rest of us do?’

‘Do I heal?’ echoed Avanius with a pained grunt of laughter. ‘Like magic, you mean? Yes, I heal, far swifter than any mortal man. The gifts of our reforging help we Stormcasts to do so. The faith and purity of the Hallowed Knights seems to speed the process further. Given time, and a chance to rest.’

Sornsson had retreated to the room’s darkest corner, and sat down heavily without a word. Now the battered duardin rummaged in his satchel and produced a crystal phial of softly glowing green liquid.

‘This should help,’ he muttered. ‘Saw one before. With another group. Think you just drink it. Though knowing my luck, this one’ll choke you.’ The Fyreslayer tossed the small bottle to Avanius, who caught it and plucked out the stopper. The Stormcast held the phial to his lips and tipped his head back, swallowing the potion in a single swig. He gave several convulsive shudders, and lightning flickered about his body, then Avanius relaxed back against the wall with a sigh. Already Hathrek thought his breathing sounded easier.

‘My thanks, Sornsson.

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