Temple of the Serpent (Thanquol and Boneripper Book 2) by C L Werner

Author:C L Werner [Werner, C L]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Black Library
Published: 2011-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

The Sacred Serpent of Sotek

As the fugitives fled up the stairs, the stink of reptilian musk intensified, becoming an overwhelming reek that made their skin crawl with loathing. After the horrific attack by the lizardmen in the spawning pools, the humans had new reasons to find the smell intimidating, reasons that went beyond even the natural repugnance of all mammalian life for the reptiles that had ruled before them.

Adalwolf forced his companions to press on when they would have succumbed to their fear and tried to turn back. There was nothing to return to. Either the ratmen had triumphed over the guardians of the pool, or the lizardmen had slaughtered the invaders. Whichever side had won, there was only death waiting for them back there. They could only press on and hope they would find some way out of this maze of ancient horrors.

There was one thing that the mercenary found reassuring about the thick ophidian stench. In his brief time with the ratkin, he had seen the way they relied more upon their sense of smell than their sense of sight. He knew they were even more frightened of the reptiles than he was. The greater the musky reek of snakes became, the greater the likelihood that the skaven wouldn’t follow them.

The mercenary led the way, holding the sputtering torch before him, watching its flame with an uneasy eye. He whispered a soft prayer to Myrmidia to keep the flame alive, glancing at Diethelm as he did so and wondering if it was impious to invoke the goddess while the priest of another god was standing beside him.

Sweaty fingers closed around Adalwolf’s arm, quivering as they gripped him. He turned to find Hiltrude’s ashen face staring at him with wide eyes and trembling lips.

‘We can’t go on,’ she gasped. ‘Please, we can’t go any more!’ Her hand fell away from the mercenary’s arm. Frantically she began rubbing the tatters of her dress, as though she were trying to wipe something unclean from her clothes. ‘I can feel it crawling on me!’

‘There’s nothing there,’ Diethelm assured her, trying to use the calmness in his voice to counter the panic in hers. ‘You are safe.’

Hiltrude was unconvinced, her head making erratic jerking motions as she looked down at the stairs. There was utter terror in her eyes now. Her boots, rotten from the jungle, stomped relentlessly against the steps. Adalwolf lower his torch and felt a chill race down his spine when he failed to see anything except the courtesan’s feet.

‘She’s out of her mind,’ van Sommerhaus declared. ‘Forget her and let’s get out of this hell hole.’

Adalwolf glared at the patroon, his fist raised to break the merchant’s aquiline nose. ‘We’re not leaving anybody,’ he growled.

‘Look at her,’ van Sommerhaus persisted. ‘She’s gone mad! A mad woman’s only going to slow us down! Ruin our own chance to escape!’

‘Only a little while ago, she spoke up for you when you wanted to stay with the underfolk,’ Adalwolf snarled at van Sommerhaus.

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