Dryad-Born
Page 83
Annon glanced down at the floor and stepped between the statues and entered the circular chamber. There was another man, on the floor, also made of stone, his arms and legs bunched in a cowering position.
Blue fire erupted from Annon’s left, sending a blast of flame that tore into him and engulfed him, but did not harm him. Annon strode forward, exiting the sheet of flames, and faced his attacker, a man half-hidden behind a pillar. The flames came from a ring on his hand.
“Now!” the man shouted from behind the pillar.
Nizeera hissed and Annon flattened himself on the ground, dropping to the tiles so hard his bones rattled. Streaks of lightning lanced at him from pillars around the room, exploding into stone and sending jagged fragments into the air. Explosions rattled his ears and he rolled to one side, another bolt searing the ground where he had been a moment before. He was surrounded on all sides.
Nizeera! The order came from there! He’s the leader!
Annon scrabbled toward a nearby statue of a Rike, using it to block the blasts of white lightning streaming through the room at him. Khiara sailed into the room from above, her white staff gleaming.
There were many more than the Druidecht had expected. Bits of stone spattered off his cloak as the lightning continued to strike against the statue. He glanced at the room, trying to understand it. Pillars stood around the circumference but there were openings between them at various intervals. Stone altars or biers stood in a circle as well, probably twelve in all, each with the effigy of a sleeping corpse engraved onto the surface. Were they sarcophagi? All of the altars faced the center where a large bronze circle had been inset into the floor in the middle of the room. At the far side was another set of large stone doors with scrawling letters engraved above it: BASILIDES.
A blast of energy struck Annon in the shoulder, searing with pain and flinging him like a doll. His shoulder burned as if it has been stabbed with a hot poker and he let out an involuntary cry of pain.
Exposed now, Annon knew he had to find shelter again quickly. Trying to force down a moan of pain, he crawled toward one of the biers and then found his feet and ran. The tiles behind him cracked with the impact of energy. Khiara could not be seen. Neither could Erasmus. Nizeera shrieked with savage fury as she rushed the hidden man and he sensed her mind suddenly go black with terror. She had charged at the Rike with the ring, the one who had shouted for the others to attack. A wall of frenzied fear had struck her, reducing her mind to a gibbering mass. She fled from the pillar, cowed, unable even to think to Annon, unable to communicate anything.
Annon made it to the nearest bier and dropped behind it, feeling a blast of lightning zoom over his head, smashing into the stone wall across from him. He pressed his back against the firm stone, breathing in gasps, trying to think. What could they do against so much magic? How could they defend—?
The memory struck him. In the prince’s manor, when the Arch-Rike’s forces had attacked, Tyrus had uttered a single Vaettir word that had disabled all the devices and even killed many who held them.
The kiss from Neodesha brought the word to his mind instantly.
“Calvariae!” Annon shouted.
Nothing happened. The blasts continued to slam against the stone behind him.
“Hold your attack!” came a voice from behind the pillar, the one that had driven away Nizeera.
The hail of lightning stopped.
“You uttered the sacred Vaettir word,” the voice said, ghosting from behind the pillar. “Surely you did not believe we would let that trick happen twice? Think, Druidecht! We know so much about you. We know so much about Tyrus. Fool us once, yes. But not a second time.”
Annon craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the hidden man. He felt totally alone, defeated. They had charged into the enemy’s lair. Surely the Arch-Rike would have prepared for the arrival. Surely he would have taken precautions.
“Why do you seek Basilides?” the voice said. It was moving now, showing the man had changed positions.
Annon shifted, preparing to duck around the corner of the bier. His mind worked frantically to find an escape. “Knowledge,” he replied.
“Hardly,” the other man said. “This is a trove of treasures, Annon of Wayland. This is where the kings of old are buried. Which treasure did Tyrus send you to steal? He sent the Bhikhu and the Romani girl to claim the Sword of Winds. A precious relic, yes, but an equally foolish venture. The Kishion train where it is kept and your friends will not survive the ordeal of blindness. I guarantee it. Which of the many artifacts here did Tyrus send you to claim?”
Annon was baffled by the man’s words, but he wanted to learn what he could. “If you know so much about us, you tell me.” He turned his head and examined the lid of the sarcophagus. It was half a hand thick and made of solid stone. Would he be able to budge it? Would it slide off or was the stone fitted and needed to be lifted to open? If this truly was the lair of dead kings, perhaps they were buried with items that would be helpful to him, especially if he could free the trapped spirits inside.
Blue fire erupted from Annon’s left, sending a blast of flame that tore into him and engulfed him, but did not harm him. Annon strode forward, exiting the sheet of flames, and faced his attacker, a man half-hidden behind a pillar. The flames came from a ring on his hand.
“Now!” the man shouted from behind the pillar.
Nizeera hissed and Annon flattened himself on the ground, dropping to the tiles so hard his bones rattled. Streaks of lightning lanced at him from pillars around the room, exploding into stone and sending jagged fragments into the air. Explosions rattled his ears and he rolled to one side, another bolt searing the ground where he had been a moment before. He was surrounded on all sides.
Nizeera! The order came from there! He’s the leader!
Annon scrabbled toward a nearby statue of a Rike, using it to block the blasts of white lightning streaming through the room at him. Khiara sailed into the room from above, her white staff gleaming.
There were many more than the Druidecht had expected. Bits of stone spattered off his cloak as the lightning continued to strike against the statue. He glanced at the room, trying to understand it. Pillars stood around the circumference but there were openings between them at various intervals. Stone altars or biers stood in a circle as well, probably twelve in all, each with the effigy of a sleeping corpse engraved onto the surface. Were they sarcophagi? All of the altars faced the center where a large bronze circle had been inset into the floor in the middle of the room. At the far side was another set of large stone doors with scrawling letters engraved above it: BASILIDES.
A blast of energy struck Annon in the shoulder, searing with pain and flinging him like a doll. His shoulder burned as if it has been stabbed with a hot poker and he let out an involuntary cry of pain.
Exposed now, Annon knew he had to find shelter again quickly. Trying to force down a moan of pain, he crawled toward one of the biers and then found his feet and ran. The tiles behind him cracked with the impact of energy. Khiara could not be seen. Neither could Erasmus. Nizeera shrieked with savage fury as she rushed the hidden man and he sensed her mind suddenly go black with terror. She had charged at the Rike with the ring, the one who had shouted for the others to attack. A wall of frenzied fear had struck her, reducing her mind to a gibbering mass. She fled from the pillar, cowed, unable even to think to Annon, unable to communicate anything.
Annon made it to the nearest bier and dropped behind it, feeling a blast of lightning zoom over his head, smashing into the stone wall across from him. He pressed his back against the firm stone, breathing in gasps, trying to think. What could they do against so much magic? How could they defend—?
The memory struck him. In the prince’s manor, when the Arch-Rike’s forces had attacked, Tyrus had uttered a single Vaettir word that had disabled all the devices and even killed many who held them.
The kiss from Neodesha brought the word to his mind instantly.
“Calvariae!” Annon shouted.
Nothing happened. The blasts continued to slam against the stone behind him.
“Hold your attack!” came a voice from behind the pillar, the one that had driven away Nizeera.
The hail of lightning stopped.
“You uttered the sacred Vaettir word,” the voice said, ghosting from behind the pillar. “Surely you did not believe we would let that trick happen twice? Think, Druidecht! We know so much about you. We know so much about Tyrus. Fool us once, yes. But not a second time.”
Annon craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the hidden man. He felt totally alone, defeated. They had charged into the enemy’s lair. Surely the Arch-Rike would have prepared for the arrival. Surely he would have taken precautions.
“Why do you seek Basilides?” the voice said. It was moving now, showing the man had changed positions.
Annon shifted, preparing to duck around the corner of the bier. His mind worked frantically to find an escape. “Knowledge,” he replied.
“Hardly,” the other man said. “This is a trove of treasures, Annon of Wayland. This is where the kings of old are buried. Which treasure did Tyrus send you to steal? He sent the Bhikhu and the Romani girl to claim the Sword of Winds. A precious relic, yes, but an equally foolish venture. The Kishion train where it is kept and your friends will not survive the ordeal of blindness. I guarantee it. Which of the many artifacts here did Tyrus send you to claim?”
Annon was baffled by the man’s words, but he wanted to learn what he could. “If you know so much about us, you tell me.” He turned his head and examined the lid of the sarcophagus. It was half a hand thick and made of solid stone. Would he be able to budge it? Would it slide off or was the stone fitted and needed to be lifted to open? If this truly was the lair of dead kings, perhaps they were buried with items that would be helpful to him, especially if he could free the trapped spirits inside.
