(eng) Jonathan Moeller - Mask of The Demonsouled 02 by Mask of Dragons

Author:Mask of Dragons [Dragons, Mask of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11: The Horn Of Doom And Fate

Silence ruled in the darkness below Armalast.

They all carried torches, of course, but Timothy conjured a spinning little ball of blue-white light. Still, if the wizard was incapacitated, they would lose the light, and Adalar did not want to wander in the darkness down here.

Especially not with the old webs clinging to the walls and ceilings of the catacombs.

The catacombs themselves were spacious. If some long-dead race of giants had indeed built Armalast, they had constructed the catacombs to similar size. The passages were tall and wide, rising overhead in round arches. Niches in the walls held crumbling skeletons lying in eternal rest.

“What do the Skuldari do with their dead, Basjun?” said Adalar, holding his greatsword ready.

“Traditionally, they are left for the soliphages to consume,” said Basjun. “As you can imagine, this caused something of a problem during the Great Rising.”

Mazael snorted. “Don’t remind me.”

“Those of us who belong the secret church know that our souls reside in the mercy of the gods after we die, if we are repentant,” said Basjun, “so we burn our dead in secret to deny them to the soliphages. Sometimes, though, it is necessary to follow the old rites, lest we arouse suspicion. But since the soul resides in the hands of the gods, the fate of the body is of little concern.”

“The Jutai burn our dead as well,” said Sigaldra. “Their ashes are interred in the ancestral urn of the family.” Adalar remembered the rows of urns of stone and clay and bronze standing in the chapel of Greatheart Keep, the ashes of the Jutai dead carried out of the middle lands by their living descendants. “The ancestors watch over the Jutai. Those of us who are left, anyway.”

“Do you not wonder what happens to their souls?” said Basjun.

Sigaldra shrugged. “I gave it little thought. Presumably the righteous are rewarded and the wicked punished. Or the wicked rule while the righteous suffer. Why should the land of the dead be any different from the land of the living?”

“The secret church,” said Basjun, “teaches that…”

Romaria went motionless, and Crouch turned his head, his nostrils flaring, his ears pressed tight against his head.

“Quiet,” said Mazael.

Adalar looked around. They had come to an intersection between two of the catacomb galleries. Following Hirune’s directions, they ought to continue down the passage on the right until they reached the stairs leading to the citadel proper. Adalar didn’t think it would be much farther, though he had a hard time keeping his sense of direction underground.

Crouch stepped forward, sniffed the air, and let out a rumbling growl that echoed through the gallery.

“They’re coming,” said Romaria, raising her Elderborn bow.

“What’s coming?” said Sigaldra.

“Spiders, probably,” said Basjun.

“Timothy,” said Mazael. “Light!”

Timothy made a throwing gesture, and the ball of light leaped from his hand to hover a few inches below the curved stone ceiling. It blazed brighter, throwing harsh blue light across the gallery.

In that light Adalar saw a score of hound-sized spiders hurrying towards them, their legs clicking against the floor.

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