Unclean: The Haunted Lands, Book I by Richard Lee Byers

Author:Richard Lee Byers [Byers, Richard Lee]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786955893
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2010-01-20T00:00:00+00:00

chapter nine

30 Mirtul–1 Kythorn, the Year of Risen Elfkin

For the briefest of instants, the universe shattered into meaningless sparks and smears of light, and Bareris felt as if he were plummeting. Then his stride carried him clear of the portal, and his lead foot landed on a surface just as solid and level as the floor in Horus-Re’s holy of holies. But because his body had believed it was falling, he lurched off balance and had to take a quick step to catch himself.

Seeking to orient himself as rapidly as possible, he peered around. He was in another stone chamber, this one lit by the wavering greenish light of the sort of enchanted torch that burned forever without the heatless flames consuming the wood. It didn’t look as though Mulhorandi had built this room. Its trapezoidal shape, the square doorways, and the odd zigzag carvings framing them were markedly different than the architecture of his ancestors or any other culture he knew of.

The portal was a white stone arch on this side too, identical to its counterpart. Armed with spears and scimitars, wearing cyclopean-skull-and-four-pointed-star badges that likely proclaimed their fealty to one Red Wizard or another, a pair of blood orcs were standing guard over it. They eyed Bareris curiously.

Their scrutiny gave the bard a twinge of fear. Indeed, it inspired a witless urge to whip his sword from its scabbard and try to strike the sentries down before they could raise an alarm. He raked them with a haughty stare instead.

They straightened up as much as their stooped race ever did, thrust out their lances with the shafts perpendicular to their extended arms, drew them back, and pounded the butts on the floor. It was a salute, and Bareris breathed a sigh of relief that he’d deceived the first creatures he’d encountered anyway.

One guard, afflicted with a runny walleye that rendered it even homelier than the common run of orc, looked back at the portal expectantly. When no one else emerged, it asked, “No slaves this time, Master?”

“No,” Bareris said. “I traveled on ahead carrying word of how many you’re getting and when. It should help with the planning.” He hoped his improvisation made at least a little sense.

The orc’s mouth twisted. “You need to see the whelp, then.”

The whelp? What in the name of the Binder’s quill did that mean? “The one in charge,” he said warily.

The orc nodded. “That Xingax thing. The whelp is what we call it.” It hesitated. “Maybe we shouldn’t, but it’s not one of you masters. It’s … what it is.”

“I understand,” Bareris said, wishing it were true. “Where is it?”

“Somewhere up top. That’ll take you up.” The orc used its spear to point to a staircase behind one of the square doorways.

Bareris started to say thank you, until it occurred to him that the average Red Wizard probably didn’t bother showing courtesy to orcs. “Got it.” He turned away.

“Master?”

Breathing more quickly, fearful he’d betrayed himself somehow, the bard pivoted back around. “What?”

“I don’t mean to bother you.

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